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yourneighborhooddisaster · 3 years

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Ravenous

Touch Starved Patton! I haven’t actually written stuff like this before, and I guess it could be read shippy, but it can also be read completely platonic. I would say warnings, sympathetic janus and remus, but they’re blessings.

Warnings: touch starvation, angst, hurt/comfort (kinda), not everybody really gets along but that’s okay

Comments and constructive criticism are appreciated!!! Reblogs are cherished!! Also I’m just really excited I was able to stick to a deadline!

Fic under the cut. Please ask to be tagged! I’d be honored. Also you are always able to be removed from the taglist if you read something you don’t like or is triggering!!! I won’t be offended!

@genderfluidmoma @emiisanxious (that’s what you meant right? if not sorry)

All of the sides had needs.

They weren’t people. They were fully aware that they were all a fraction of a person, and they all cared for Thomas very much. They didn’t envy being a person, especially through all the wild stuff that was going on in the world right now. Technically, the sides didn’t need to eat, or sleep, even though it was possible for them to do so, as long as it was imagination food or during the night when Thomas was already asleep. But they did have needs.

Everyone was fully aware of Roman’s needs. Stimuli. Some sort of creative fuel. Even watching a documentary with Logan and Thomas could help him if he was in a particularly bad block. That’s part of the reason he loved Disney so much, and Patton always made sure they had time to watch a cartoon before bed when Roman was feeling down.

Logan’s primary need was obvious, although he hated to admit that he needed things, insisting it was to help Thomas. It did help Thomas, but not as much as it helped Logan. Logan needed structure and rules. It made a lot of sense. So sometimes when Patton noticed Logan’s smiles becoming tight, or when Patton felt he might not be listening to him enough, he would grin and ask what was on the schedule for that day.

Virgil was under a lot of stress lately, and that was because, as much as a lot of social interaction could overwhelm him, Virgil needed positive interactions with Thomas’s friends. Patton suspected that the sides may also be in that category, but he didn’t quite know, so he didn’t want to assume. He would often bug Thomas to call or text Joan, knowing Virgil wasn’t the best at bringing his own issues up.

Janus was tricky. Patton’s first instinct would be that Janus needed Thomas to take care of himself, but they all needed that, and Janus hadn’t seemed to suffer more than the others when Thomas missed the callback. Patton didn’t know Janus too well, but he knew him enough to finally understand that he was a little like Logan. Janus needed to be listened to. So if Roman and Janus had fought and Janus was sulking, Patton would insist that Janus pick a movie to watch with him. (And if Roman slunk out to watch Hamilton with them, well, two birds with one stone, right?)

Remus should have been a difficult one, and Patton would never admit that he had known right away. But Remus was simple. Patton didn’t really understand Remus’s thought process, and he probably never would, at least not all the way. But Patton understood Roman’s, and he wasn’t oblivious, no matter how much he was portrayed that way. Remus needed attention. He needed time, he needed the sides, he needed Thomas, and most of all, he needed to talk. So when Patton was up for it (and even sometimes when he really wasn’t), he would invite Remus to bake with him, as it was something they both, surprisingly, enjoyed, and something they both, unsurprisingly, were terrible at.

All of the sides had needs.

Patton wished he didn’t.

His was simple. Predictable. Expected, even. But it was just… so embarrassing. Because Patton needed physical touch, and didn’t that sound clingy and awful. Of course he could try to play it off, and he did. He was just happy pappy Patton, soft cuddly Patton, just your Dad Patton trying to give you a hug, kiddo! He felt so guilty all the time. And it hurt even more now that he was trying not to repress his negative emotions, because when he did admit he was feeling sad, everyone treated him as if he was made of glass. He dreaded when they asked him if he wanted to be alone, because no, he absolutely did NOT. And he says yes anyway. He wants to be normal, so why wouldn’t he? He knew none of the other sides wanted - needed this. It was okay though. He could always get in at least a hug or a high five in a day.

Until now.

Patton slumped against his door. He hadn’t been touched all day. He was frighteningly cold, but he didn’t want to go get a blanket. He had lent all of his to Virgil after he had a panic attack, and he wasn’t going to ask for them back. He wasn’t heartless.

“Thanks Pat, but… could I please be alone for a while?” The words rang in his ears, nearly deafening, though their speaker was quiet and polite. And Virgil was being polite, he had phrased it in the kindest way possible. It was just something wrong with Patton. He shook his head, tears finally rolling down his cheeks. He put on his hoodie to help with the cold, but it didn’t help with the hunger clawing right below his skin. Logan was reading, Roman was editing a video with Thomas, Remus would probably just make him feel worse. And he didn’t want Janus to sense all the lies he’d been telling. The most accessible of the sides was Logan, but Logan would hardly appreciate the interruption, especially as Patton wouldn’t be able to explain exactly why he was interrupting.

He was going to have a long night.

>><<

Patton hummed softly as he flipped some pancakes. He had managed not to burn them this time, even though the shapes were not really circles. Pancakes were easy. At least, he was better at making pancakes than anything else.

Logan’s better at it though.

Patton shook away the thought. It made sense that Logan would be better at something as adult and precise as cooking. Baking was where Logan was in need of help. Measurements usually fluctuated more in baking. Though Patton wasn’t really good at that either. He was usually a disaster in the kitchen, probably because he represented Thomas’s inner child, which was why he wasn’t offended when Logan declined the offer of pancakes, instead going to the commons to help Thomas schedule the day. Well, maybe a little offended. But not much. Logan had been under stress lately too, as quarantine tended to blur all the days together. So Patton dug into his pancakes himself, covering up all potential mistakes by drowning it in cheap quality maple syrup.

“Ooh, did you make pancakes, Patty-cake?” Remus all but bounced into the room. Patton put on a wide beam and nodded. Remus was still wearing his pajama pants and was shirtless, though he was definitely a morning person, so it was likely he’d already been up for a few hours. “I want some!” Patton laughed at that, pointing at a plate right next to the stove.

“The hot ones are over there, and make sure to tell me if you want anymore. If we do end up making more though, you’re on egg duty.” Remus half pouted, even as he shoveled pancakes onto his plate.

“But I like it when you get the shells in. It makes it crunchy.” Patton huffed, pretending to be offended. “Oh come on Patton, you know I compli-meant it!” Patton stifled a giggle, though a little unsuccessfully.

“Oh, that was bad even for me…” Remus shrugged, utterly unashamed. A lock of hair fell into Patton’s face, and he instinctively brushed it away, not really noticing his sticky fingers making a shiny trail up his cheek.

But he noticed when his fingers were replaced by something else.

Patton froze, his face hotter than the pan on the stove. (He should turn that off, his brain registered dumbly, but he was too much in shock to care if the mindscape could burn down.) Remus was clearly satisfied, grossly swirling his sticky sweet spit in his mouth. Tears pricked at Patton’s eyes, and he knew he was being stupid. Remus was lewd and touchy with everyone. He wasn’t special, and Remus certainly didn’t need this like he did. Remus just loved to be loud and obnoxious and throw everyone off.

Then why’d it feel so intimate and wonderful?

Why would he want such a gross touch?

“What’s got you so nervous Mr. Moral Compass?” Remus was watching him with a self satisfied smirk. “Did I do something to upset you?” That should have been reassuring, that Remus was happy and just his normal self. If everyone was happy, Patton would be happy, because he had no reason to be sad. No reason at all…

Patton broke out into loud ugly sobs. Crumpling to the floor, he was vaguely aware of Remus panicking, and no, he really didn’t want to burden him, and it just became worse when more people ran into the room. He couldn’t hear anything over the rush of blood in his ears, and blurry tears distorted his vision and fogged up his glasses, which were slowly sliding off his nose. But then two hands gently grabbed his wrists, and they didn’t let go, and his wrists were burning but all he could think was more, more, more. And then a hand landed on his shoulder, but it was much too hesitant. Another hand over his heart, and that seemed to do it ever so slowly. The tears stopped and his breathing slowed.

But he may have preferred the rush of blood in his ears to the stressed silence. He made a move to wipe at his eyes only to find his hands still restrained. A blur of yellow - Janus - removed his glasses, cleaned them, and wiped the excess tears away before placing them gently back on his face. He was surrounded by faces, but only Logan and Virgil were touching him, and he felt so, so clingy, because this definitely wasn’t enough even though he should be grateful they were even still touching him. Thomas looked terrified. Patton dropped his head in shame and guilt.

“I’m-”

“Don’t,” Roman replied quickly, already knowing what Patton was about to say. “You have nothing to apologize for. My brother, on the other hand-” “No!” Remus was still looking panicked on the sidelines, and what Roman would’ve said next would have everything even worse. “It’s not his fault, he didn’t do anything.” Patton squirmed, his whole body on fire. Virgil made a move to retract his hand from Patton’s chest. And Patton. WHIMPERED, SO EMBARRASSINGLY LOUD. Virgil froze. “No, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to, of course you guys don’t have to touch me if you don’t want-”

“Patton.” Janus spoke calmly and slowly, as if he was trying to understand something. “So the problem is you want people to touch you, and you aren’t getting that attention you need, correct?” Patton nodded, biting his lip bloody so he wouldn’t make such a weak, embarrassing little noise again. All heads swiveled towards Janus, but he simply, albeit hesitantly, took off his gloves and cape and moved closer. Virgil and Roman glared defiantly at him, but one look from Patton and they stepped aside, and Logan gently released his hands, leaving Patton nearly about to cry again about the loss of contact. “I know this normally would be a little… inappropriate, considering our only newfound truce, but…” Janus spread his arms open wide. It was preposterous. Why would Patton hug Janus, even with their agreements? A ridiculous notion. (Now he was starting to sound like Logan.)

Patton jumped into the other’s arms.

He was suffocating, choking on air and new tears but he buried his head into the all encompassing warmth around him. Six arms squeezed him so tight and so close he felt like he was in a vacuum, but he didn’t mind at all. After a few minutes it started to get to be too much, but Patton didn’t want to ever let go at the same time, and he was just so confused. Janus seemed to sense this and he broke away. His hands were still holding Patton’s forearms.

“Hey, you’re not going to feel that bad ever again, okay? We won’t let that happen,” Janus murmured soothingly, and Patton shakily nodded because he didn’t even care if it was all a lie because it was so pretty and it felt so good. “Do you want to hear about what that was or would you rather just come watch a movie?”

“You know?” Janus nodded at Remus.

“Wait, how come you know and I don’t?” Logan was rather flustered and panicked looking. They all were, Patton realized.

“It’s touch starvation. Patton’s been lying to himself about it for a long time. He has a crucial need for physical touch.” Virgil inhaled sharply, and Roman glanced over Patton, but refused to quite meet his eyes. Logan gasped.

“I’m so sorry, Patton.” Patton blinked at the sudden and quick apology from Logan, who always struggled with admitting he was in the wrong. “I didn’t realize that by limiting my physical affection towards you I was harming you in any way. Can I… can I do anything to fix my behavior?” Patton smiled sadly.

“It’s okay Lo, I know you guys don’t really need it like I do. We’re sides, not people. You wouldn’t have assumed I was affected by things like that.”

“What - what did I do?” Remus asked tentatively. “I mean, I know I was being gross and all, but I touched you. I’m a very touchy person. So what happened to make you all snotty?” He immediately winced at his own wording, but Patton knew this was rather gentle for him.

“I just… I guess I couldn’t handle that you were only doing it to get a rise out of me… And it’s kinda started to burn when I get touched because I feel so cold the rest of the time.”

“Overstimulation,” Logan supplied helpfully. Patton nodded, and their conversation lapsed into silence. Then Thomas walked towards Patton, Janus helping him to his feet and guiding him into Thomas’s arms. He was exhausted but even the much looser two armed hug sent his heart and skin and mind spiraling into fireworks. They settled onto the couch.

“We got you, okay Pat? We’ll be more careful from now on.”

And Virgil would just have to trust that Patton understood, because before he replied, Thomas and Patton had fallen fast asleep.

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moral-turpitudes · 4 years

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Butterflies 🦋: Part 2

Trigger Warnings: Descriptions of fighting, Gore, Blood, Mentions of Death, Angst, Fluff, Swearing, etc.

Word Count: 3,993

Summary: Y/N and Esmeralda are left to look after things and are planning for the wedding, meanwhile Bonnie and his father are on yet another perilous mission for Thomas Shelby.

Requested: Nah

A/N: I’ve worked on this in my drafts for days cuz my motivation has been super shitty recently so I hope this doesn’t suck as much as I think it does lol. I appreciate all the feedback on these fics and stuff though, it means the world. <3

Part 1 | Part 2

Aberama and Bonnie’s footsteps echoed over the expanse of hallowed ground, the leaves crunching as they walked through the brisk morning air, causing the hair on the back of their necks to stand on edge. In the distance Tommy and his brothers were standing near a tombstone, the thick fog eerily clearing where he stood as they got closer. He wore his usual dusty black coat and had his peaked cap sitting perfectly atop his head.

“Now that you all are here, I say it’s about time we get this over with aye?” He asked, his icy gaze piercing Bonnie’s.

“Where are they Tom? Are we bait now?” Aberama asked, frustration lacing his voice.

“No. They told me to meet them here. If you look off to the distance they dug a grave, for us. We won’t go in there though, not today.” He said, taking a drag from his cigarette.

“Do you have your men positioned behind the trees?” Tommy asked.

“Yes. We have 5 men, not much but they’re good shots.” Bonnie said.

“Good.” Tommy said, turning around and scanning the tree line.

A shot rung out down near the grave suddenly, causing Tommy, his brothers, and Bonnie and Aberama to duck behind the nearby tombstones.

Tommy got his machine gun and loaded it expertly, taking aim where the shot came from as Aberama did the same. Bonnie looked out from the side of the decaying gray stone in front of him, his hands shaking slightly.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw John aim for someone to the side of them. John missed the first time, making him have to stop and reload. Without thinking, Bonnie quickly aimed and steadied his breathing, pretending it was similar to hunting for his own sake. He watched the mans movements in the distance like he would a deer, estimating the best angle and time to shoot.

With a single pull of the trigger, the bullet flew through the air and hit the man in the chest as he turned, giving Bonnie an easy shot in the end.

John looked back and nodded at him before aiming again, this time at the three men barreling towards them.

Aberama looked on as they came running and then stuck his finger in the air, moving it in a swift motion, signaling their men to shoot.

Shots rang out seemingly from all sides, as the three men tried to make it past the hail of bullets, but none of them escaped, falling with an audible thud on the near-frozen ground.

A whistle then came from the distance, giving the gruesome scene before them an eerie feeling.

“It’s those damn Billy Boys again... We have to take them out. Wait for my orders.” Tommy said, changing his clips and looking on ahead.

The Billy Boys sang loudly as they marched forward clutching their guns. The rest of the men from the troublesome gang were close behind them.

“I count 4 men from the gang, and 5 Billy Boys...” John said over their singing.

“Alright, Arthur you stay with me, Bonnie you take the right, Aberama you take the left. John you back Bonnie up.” He said, loading the last of the bullets into his machine gun.

With a deep breath Tommy got the unruly lead member, Jimmy McCavern, in his sights and steadied himself like he did in the war.

“In the bleak midwinter...” He muttered quietly under his breath, before taking his shot.

Back at the camp, Y/N and Esmeralda helped plan the wedding down to the last details. They excitedly talked about the food and music they’ll have and Bonnie’s younger sisters even helped Y/N learn some of the dances they traditionally did.

As the day went on, the sun started poking through the trees in dancing golden beams as they prepared lunch, adjusting the portions since most of the men were gone.

Y/N sat down and looked into the crackling flames of the bonfire, letting the warmth soothe her cold skin.

“You okay love?” Esmeralda said, a concerned look on her face as she stirred the kettle over the flames.

“Yeah...just worried ya know? It’s not easy being here without him.” Y/N said running her finger over the small diamond ring.

“They know what they’re doing. They’ll be back. If not, me and you will just have to go over there ourselves.” She said with a wink. Y/N smiled and gathered some bowls, finally working up a somewhat decent appetite after all the cleaning and wedding preparations earlier in the morning.

She and the remaining people there all sat around, talking about random things and discussing their plans for the wedding decorations and music, some asking her opinion, others excitedly showing her jewelry or clothing she could borrow.

“I’d get to resting if I were you Y/N who knows, they may be home later.” Esmeralda said, draping a blanket over your shoulders. She didn’t realize that she had been going nonstop all day, partly to relish in her excitement, and partly to take her mind off how her fiancé was off fighting in one of Thomas Shelby’s little battles.

“That’s true. I’ll go do that I guess...wake me if you need help.” Y/N said before going into the forest green vardo. Her head hit the pillow and she reluctantly closed her eyes, wanting to sleep but not wanting to wake later in fear of getting her hopes up.

Shots rang out in the graveyard, the cold air a bleak afterthought as the bullets pierced through the fog and into the men’s flesh.

Tommy ducked as Aberama took over, shooting two of the 5 Billy Boys. Meanwhile Arthur fought a fourth one who ran off towards the tree line. Jimmy struggled to breathe, choking on his own blood on the frozen dirt as the last of the Billy Boys ran towards Bonnie and John.

Bonnie shot quickly, aiming for the mans head, missing just by a hair. John then shot, hitting him in the shoulder. But before Bonnie could finish him off, he felt a sharp pain in his arm, blood trickling down as he stared at the smoking gun a few feet in front of him. John shot him dead while Bonnie retreated behind the tombstone for a moment to assess his wound. It was bleeding pretty badly and he hissed as the pain tore through his arm as he tied some cloth around it.

“Bonnie are you okay?!” His father yelled as he ran over to him and ducking by a nearby tombstone as well.

“Missed an artery but still bleeding pretty bad. He was a terrible shot, I’ll be fine.” He said, winking at his father slightly before checking the clip in his gun. Aberama took a long glance at him and then at the other 4 men who were no doubt doing business with the now-deceased Billy Boys.

They nervously ran towards Tommy who was aiming again and Aberama watched as Arthur stood in a bloody mess over the last of the Billy Boy bodies.

“Take them out.” Tommy yelled.

Aberama signaled again as Bonnie and John shot at the men, their shots piercing through two of them while the other two managed to almost get to Tommy, a bullet whizzing past his head before the pair were shot by the men in the tree line.

As the last of the bodies dropped, an eerie silence fell over Tommy and the rest.

They all worked together, painstakingly dragging the bodies to the grave that was dug, only to be stopped in their tracks by an odd object in the center of the hole.

“Stop! Don’t throw them in. Get back!” Tommy yelled.

“What is it Tom?” Arthur said as he watched his brothers gears turning frantically in his head.

“A bomb.” He said loudly.

“Everyone get back, do we have anything not valuable...and heavy?” He asked the group.

“We have our guns...but...we need them Tom.” John said.

“We can get more. Give them to me, every one of you.” He said.

Aberama reluctantly let his go, as did Bonnie and Tommy’s brothers followed suit.

Tommy gathered them all, including his in his arms and stood near the edge of the grave.

“Everyone go. Now.” He said.

“What? No of course not! Are you mad?” John yelled.

“Fucking go. That’s an order. Now!” He said, his eyes piercing his brothers.

They swallowed hard and took a look at their brother before running towards the fragile shelter of the tombstones with Aberama and Bonnie following.

Tommy took a few steps back, checking the weight of the guns in his arms before closing his eyes and whispering to himself once again, the images of Grace and Charlie playing in his mind before he got a running start, chucking the guns at the center of the hole and desperately running for his life.

In the 30 seconds it took for the guns to make an impact, the ground rumbled around the bodies of the men they killed and eventually erupted in a loud fiery boom, sending their limbs flying and Tommy slamming into the ground, covering his head in a desperate attempt to save himself.

As the dirt, debris, and blood fell down on him, the others watched nearby as the gross mixture rained down on them as well.

Tommy got up slowly, his ears ringing loudly and vision blurring as he held his arm, wincing at the deep cut that came from some of the debris.

“Fucking hell he’s alive...” John said in disbelief. Tommy always found a way to cheat death, in some twisted way.

As he limped slightly to the men, he lit a cigarette, bringing it to his muddy, blood stained lips.

“I’ll deliver your guns and your payment. Tell your men you all are free to go. Thank you for the help Mr. Gold.” He said looking at Aberama as blood dripped down his arm.

“They better be good guns because we’ll need them Mr. Shelby. Let us know when you need us and we’ll be there, if the pay is right of course.” He said.

“It’ll be right, you’ll see.” He said, before waving them off and inspecting his arm.

Bonnie and Aberama slowly walked off after saying goodbye, leaving the gory scene behind them as they walked through the damp grass, the sun glowing in the autumn afternoon. The fog had cleared, revealing the true mess they’d made.

“You’ll need to get that cleaned up before Y/N sees ya know...she’ll kick your ass.” One of their men said, chuckling.

“Oh I will. She’ll kick my ass regardless, because she hates that I’m gone.” He said.

“You’ll see her soon my boy, soon.” Aberama said as they walked down the muddy road and to their horses.

Y/N awoke to yet another empty spot beside her, making her heart drop slightly as she assumed the worst.

Wrapping a blanket around her shoulders and stepping out of the vardo, she walked towards the bonfire which was going strong thanks to Bonnie’s sisters.

“They’re not back Y/N, don’t worry though they’ll be here I’m sure of-“ His younger sister started to say before being cut off by the sound of hooves in the distance.

“It’s them!” She said before getting up with her sister, including Esmeralda.

Y/N joined them as they walked towards the slightly worn path that lead out of the camp and waited. Her eyes darting between everyone. When the men stopped and got off their horses, and that’s when she saw him.

They were all covered in dirt and god knows what, blood and debris covering their hair and clothes. But he stood out amongst the men, having a bright red cloth wrapped around his arm.

Y/N’s eyes grew wide as she walked towards him quickly, hoping he wasn’t hurt too badly.

She didn’t say anything though, just ran into his arms, doing all she could not to hurt him.

“Told you I’d come back my love...” He said smiling down at her, exhausted.

“Are you okay?” Y/N asked, trying to look at his arm.

“Just a bullet to the arm, I’ll need to get it looked at though. I’m okay love I promise.” He said, looking into her eyes before bringing his lips to hers.

“Come on, let’s get you cleaned up.” She said, taking his hand and leading him to one of the logs near the bonfire.

“Sit here I’ll be back.” She said, getting a pail of water, some fresh cloth, and alcohol.

“Need any help?” Aberama asked, walking over as she laid the items out.

“Yes please.” She said grinning as she moved Bonnies sleeve out of the way and carefully unwrapped the blood soaked cloth.

“You have a knife?” Y/N asked.

“Always, here you go. Bonnie bite down on this cloth here alright?” He said shoving a dark cloth in his mouth.

Y/N had helped Aberama a couple of times before when some of the men came back from hunting or getting into fights, so she hoped she could at least dislodge a bullet.

She carefully used the tip of the knife to feel around, cutting a bit to fit her finger into the hole, grabbing the bullet quickly. Bonnie grunted in pain as she did so, and only got louder as she poured the alcohol into the wound.

“Here’s this, remeber that stitch I showed you dear?” Aberama asked. Y/N nodded and put the handle of the knife in her mouth, brows furrowing in concentration while she stitched him up.

She took the knife and cut a clean strip of cloth and tied it around his arm, wiping her hands in the water as she did her hands of the crimson mess. Bonnie took the cloth out of his mouth and composed himself a bit as he watched her clean up and come back with another bowl of water and soap.

“Sorry my love, I know that hurt.” She said caressing his cheek.

“It’s alright, I’m glad you helped me out lord knows no would’ve bled out if we didn’t get back soon.” He said.

“I know...do you want to talk about it?” She asked, bringing the wet cloth to his face, clearing it of all the dirt and blood.

“I don’t want to cause you any stress love. But I’m here and that’s all that matters.” He said, drying his face and hands and then bringing Y/N in close.

“Did you all have fun planning the wedding?” He asked.

“Yes! I think you’re going to love what we’ve picked out. I also learned some of the dances thanks to your sisters...” Y/N said looking up at him as she rested her head on his shoulder.

“Oh really? Do you think you could take on my dad? He’s the best dancer of us.” He said chuckling.

“I’ll have to bribe him to dance huh. This will be fun...I can’t wait to marry you Bonnie Gold.” Y/N said kissing him as the sun set over the flames of the fire, the night growing colder as time went on.

“Let’s get some sleep love, you need it. We have a big day tomorrow.” She said winking at him, getting up and carefully walking to their vardo.

Bonnie smiled and got up, following behind her and up into the vardo where the warm bed awaited them.

The birds chirped loudly the next morning, stirring Y/N awake. She ran her hand over her small bump while looking out the little window, her eyes going to the new sights before her. She giggled to herself as she got up carefully, slipping on her robe and slippers before stepping out of the vardo.

“Have you been up all night decorating?” She asked, a playful grin on her lips as she questioned Esmeralda who was finishing up throwing petals on the ground.

“What...? No....” She said, giggling as Y/N came over, giving her a hug.

“It looks beautiful. Thank you so much for all this...” Y/N said looking at the lamps placed all around the cleared open space, the only things out were wooden seats set up with the petals all over the ground, and a small platform that was covered in various flowers.

“Now I know Bonnie is asleep, but I wanted to help you get ready for the big day, and I don’t want him to see you until it’s time to say “I do” alright? He’ll be so surprised it’ll be great.” Esmeralda said excitedly.

“Should I wake him at least?” Y/N asked as Esmeralda led her to her vardo.

“No. Aberama will take care of him, you’ll be with me alllll day!” She said, having Y/N sit on her bed while she got out a dress. It was a white lace dress that flowed almost down to the floor.

“Wait you want me to wear that? Is...isn’t that...” Y/N trailed off.

“The one you saw in Small Heath? Yes. I remember when we went to the shops just looking around for fun. And well, you’ll know why I got it, soon.” She said mischievously.

“Oh I love it! I can’t believe it. Oh my I’ll pay you back I swear it.” Y/N said giving her a hug.

Esmeralda giggled as she broke from her embrace to help Y/N slip on the dress. She zipped it up and led her over to a small mirror where she could move it around to see it at various angles. It hugged her small bump which was slightly more prominent now unlike in her other loose fitting clothes.

“I’m gonna be racking my brain all night for how you got this just so you know. This is fucking beautiful.” Y/N said twirling around slightly.

“Bonnie will love it. We got him a suit too. You’ll see.” She said winking. After Y/N got situated she sat patiently while the girls did her hair and makeup, giving her a bold red lip.

After they finished that, Y/N helped them get all dressed up as well in various colored dresses and jewelry.

“Here, I forgot these.” One of the younger sisters said, pinning gold earrings to Y/N’s ears and placing a gold necklace around her neck. It complimented the dress nicely, the suns rays bouncing off the jewels and the sparkling dress.

After one more look in the mirror she felt tears prick at her eyes, threatening to fall. She felt beautiful for the first time in so long, and she was so excited to start this new chapter, never thinking she’d make it this far because of her past home-life. She sighed, thinking about how her parents should be there, but she looked at the women before her and realized she had all the family she needed right there in this small forested area, and she couldn’t be happier.

“You okay?” Esmeralda said rubbing her back lightly.

“Yeah...I’m just so excited, and happy, it’s also a bit terrifying if I’m honest.” She said wiping her eyes gently, not wanting to ruin her makeup.

“This is going to be one of the best nights of your life Y/N, just wait.” She said giving her a reassuring hug.

“I don’t know where I’d be without any of you. I love you guys so much.” Y/N said smiling and hugging them before taking a deep breath and stepping out of the vardo.

She felt the cool ground on her feet, not wanting to wear heels as they’d just sink in the damp earth. She was carefully led behind the vardo to an elaborately colored curtain that hung between two of the trees. Esmeralda placed a string of flowers in her hair before going to her seat, and she saw Aberama in a nice suit walking up to her.

“Are you ready?” He asked, a gentle smile playing across his lips.

“Yes.” She said quietly, nervously holding onto his arm as he walked her through the curtain and down towards the flower covered platform.

Some of the people who lived in the camp played instruments as she walked, the music filling the air as she looked out and saw all of the people she’s gotten to know there over the past year, and saw Tommy and the other blinders among the guests, watching her as she made her way to Bonnie. She looked at him with a huge grin as he watched her walk with his father up onto the platform, the blinders friend Jeremiah acting as the officiant off to the side of them. Aberama let go of her arm and hugged her gently and patted Bonnie on the back before heading to his seat.

“You look absolutely beautiful my love.” He said smiling down at her.

“You don’t look too bad yourself.” She said looking up at him, her eyes searching his.

As Jeremiah concluded the ceremony, everyone cheered, the loud music consuming their ears as they kissed.

They then waded through the small crowd, Bonnie introducing Y/N to various people he knew that came in from other areas. But Y/N had a sneaky suspicion whilst chatting with them. Tommy was eyeing them in the distance as she spoke to some of Bonnies friends, making her a bit uneasy. She knew he wasn’t as bad as he had been made out to be, but she couldn’t help feel nervous and Bonnie could tell.

“Hey let me introduce you to them better than I did last time aye?” He said taking her hand and leading her over to them. Tommy’s face faltered from his usual grimace to a warm smile as they approached.

“Mr. and Mrs. Gold....congratulations.” He said shaking Bonnies hand and kissing the top of yours.

“I told you we’d pay you back right...didn’t I Aberama?” He asked playfully, eyeing Aberama as he stood next to her.

“Indeed, thank you for everything, Mr. Shelby.” He said before excusing himself.

Esmeralda came over shortly after, making the interaction less awkward.

“Thank you so much Mr. Shelby. The dress, the lights, everything’s beautiful!” She said winking at Y/N.

“Wait....” Y/N said, as she looked at Tommy with a genuine smile, surprised he’d help them with something like this.

“I should be thanking you as well Mr. Shelby, I don’t see why you went to the trouble though. That was very thoughtful.” She said.

“Your husband and father in law have helped me a lot recently with the business as you know, and I figured I’d give our best fighter something as a bit of a thank you. Don’t worry about paying anything back though love, I insist you keep the dress, for memories sake.” He said.

Y/N grinned as she looked up at Bonnie who held her hand in his. As the night drug on, you two departed from the Shelby’s and went to the source of the music, nervously stepping out with him to dance.

“Oh I’m so nervous...what if I fall?” Y/N said, clutching onto his hand as he spun her around. His sisters were near her dancing like they’d taught her.

“I’ll catch you.” He said before picking up the pace with the beat, everyone cheering as they both danced near the bonfire. Y/N remembered to transition to the other people and so she went to Esmeralda who giggled as they danced around, linking arms with each other and then eventually made her way back to Bonnie.

“Bon...?” She said, smiling up at him.

He grinned at her, her eyes sparkling as the sun set around them.

“Yeah?”

“I...I mean-we love you. Always will...” She said as she caressed his cheek, the music slowed down as their movements came to a stop.

“I love you both too, more than all the stars in the sky.” He said.

The small crowd cheered as they shared a kiss, ending the dance as the light died down around them, surrounded only by family and friends and the sparkling night sky above.

Tag List:

(If you’d like to be added/removed from the Bonnie Gold tag list just shoot me an ask!) :)

@bonniesgoldengirl, @peakyrogers, @ta-ka-shi-ma

#I feel like this sucked but it’s fine lmao #I suck at endings #Katie’s fics #katiesWIPlist #peaky blinders #peaky blinders imagines #peaky blinders oneshots #peaky blinders fanfic #katiesfics #bonnie gold #bonnie gold imagines #aberama gold #thomas shelby #arthur shelby #john shelby #bonnie gold x reader #bonnie gold x y/n

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darlingandmreames · 4 years

Text

A Thousand Ways to Say It

(also on ao3)

Prompt: Love Languages (a bit of a loose take on it, but my brain latched onto Arthur telling Eames he loved him in ways other than outright saying it and just Ran With It, so here we are)

Summary: Arthur loved Eames. He knew that, and he tried to tell him in his own way. Just never in so many words. Or 5 times Arthur didn’t quite say “I love you”, and 1 time he didn’t need to

@arthureamesmonth

Arthur reloaded his clip and got off four shots before the incoming fire forced him to duck back down behind cover. They would've been fine, the mark's subconscious was only partially militarized so stealth would've been effective enough for them to do the job without any major resistance, but then the other extractor had managed to run directly into the mark. That'd been more than enough to alert his sub-security, and now they were stuck facing a load of gunfire on what should've been an easy job.

“This is why I hate working with amateurs."

Arthur nodded, glancing over at Eames. He had a few cuts, likely from flying glass, but thankfully seemed otherwise fine. "Issue is when you don't find out they're an amateur until after you start the job."

Eames let out a clipped laugh. "True." He raised up briefly, taking out two projections before dropping back down again. "Any idea where our lovely colleague is?"

"Probably dead."

Eames nodded. "You have any sort of plan? Because all I've got currently is 'try not to get shot'."

Arthur looked at his watch. Just over 15 minutes. That was more than enough time to get the information if they could get the mark's projections off their backs at least a little. Which, given the current state of things, was a pretty big if. He peered around the corner of the bench they were currently hiding behind. "How do you feel about our chances of making it to that hallway over there without getting shot?"

Eames followed his gaze, ducking back down just in time to avoid a bullet. "Questionable, but if we lay down enough covering fire we might be able to make it."

"I'll provide cover as we run." Arthur held a hand up to cut off the objection he knew was coming, flinching as a ricochet sent bits of stone flying in his face. "You're the dreamer. If I die it'll just be a little inconvenient. If you die the dream collapses and the job's fucked." He paused, taking advantage of the lull in incoming fire to take out another projection. "Once we get into the hallway and have more cover we'll split up. The projections will follow you while I find the safe and finish the job."

Eames grimaced. "I'm not a particular fan of this plan."

"Me neither. You ready?"

Eames nodded again, crouching. "On your go."

Arthur gripped his gun, body tense, and waited for another lull. It was slowing…slowing… "Now!"

He stuck close to Eames' back, providing a general round of fire as they started running. He switched to more focused bursts as the projections took cover, targeting whatever figure he saw first. Cover fire was only useful as long as he had ammo after all, no point in wasting it. The distance between where they'd been taking cover and where the hallway started was thankfully relatively short, and the return fire had only just started up in earnest when they reached it. Arthur turned and ran normally as soon as he was out of line of fire, keeping pace beside Eames as they ran down the hallway.

He stopped at the first intersection they came to, looking around the corner carefully in case it was being patrolled. The hallway was empty though, the only sounds coming from behind them. He turned to Eames, reloading. "You good to distract the projections?"

"Course."

"Eames." Eames had already started off down and hallway when Arthur called after him. He turned to look at him, confused. "Be careful."

Eames gave him a small smile, expression softening slightly. "You too."

Arthur nodded and turned, setting off down the other side of the hallway. "See you in 15 minutes."

I love you.

XXX

Arthur was already in bed by the time Eames got back to the hotel. He had been for a while. It'd been a long couple of days, waking up early and staying late to finish up his research, and it was starting to catch up to him. He could normally stay up until the early hours of the morning with no issue, but now it was barely 10pm and he was already having trouble keeping his eyes open.

Eames opened the door and slipped in quietly, looking at Arthur with surprise. "Figured you'd be asleep by the time I got in."

"Almost, but not quite." Arthur stretched out under the covers, trying to stifle a yawn. "Productive evening?"

"Very. Business dinners are always a great context to observe someone in." Eames took his jacket off and dug through his bag. "Guy's your average run of the mill slimy businessman. I could probably forge him in my sleep."

"Hm, we do work with quite a few of those, don't we?"

Eames grinned at him. "Practically our bread and butter."

Arthur went back to scrolling mindlessly through his phone as Eames disappeared into the bathroom. He'd spent the past hour half-heartedly reading through the news as he tried to stay awake, and that seemed like a good way to continue occupying his time until Eames had finished getting ready for bed.

"You heading into the workshop tomorrow?" Eames' voice drifted out of the bathroom over the sound of the sink.

"No, I was thinking of working in a cafe somewhere." He shrugged. "We're in Rome, I might as well take advantage of the quality espresso."

"You," Eames wandered back out, drying his face with a hand towel, "don't need espresso. You're sleep deprived enough as it is, you don't need to add more caffeine to the mix."

"I'll get a good night's sleep tonight, it'll be fine." Arthur sighed. "And I'll try not to drink more than four shots tomorrow. Sound fair?"

"I suppose." Eames pulled the covers back and climbed into bed, turning the lamp off as he did so. "Mind if I join you?"

Arthur smiled and moved closer. "You're just trying to make sure I don't overdo it on the espresso."

Eames laughed. "Maybe." He shifted, making space for Arthur as he nestled against his side. "Can't I just enjoy your company though?" Arthur hummed happily as he curled against Eames, not even bothering to reply. He could already feel sleep pulling at him as Eames' arm settled around his shoulders. Eames laughed again quietly, pulling him close. "You really are tired, aren't you?"

"Mm, a bit."

"Why did you stay up? You could've just gone to bed."

Arthur gave a small shrug as he started to drift off. "I sleep better next to you."

I love you.

XXX

“You’re okay.” Arthur brushed Eames’ hair back from his forehead, his other hand rubbing gentle circles on Eames’ back as he threw up. “You’re alright.”

Eames rarely got sick. He might get the occasional cold or bout of food poisoning if he wasn’t careful, but that was usually it. When he did get sick, though, it was bad. The sort of bad that knocked him out and put him out of commission for a week or two straight. Or, in this case, had him bent over the toilet throwing up for hours at a time for the third day in a row. They were supposed to be working a job right now, a quick and easy one extracting information from an old man on behalf of his estranged son, but Eames had come down with whatever the fuck he’d gotten on the the second day and that had put a quick end to their involvement. Well, to Eames’ involvement technically. But someone had to help take care of him until he was a bit more recovered because Arthur learned rather quickly that Eames would do a terrible job of it if left to his own devices.

Arthur filled a cup up with water and handed it to Eames once he seemed to have gotten through this round of throwing up. “Try and drink at least a little. Otherwise you’re going to get dehydrated.”

“‘M not going to be able to keep it down.”

“I know.” He crouched behind Eames, going back to rubbing his back gently. “But you should try to drink a bit anyways.” Eames managed to get half of it down before setting the cup of the floor and resting his head against his arm. Arthur moved the cup up onto the counter. “Do you think you’re going to be sick again soon?”

“Don’t think so, no.”

“Why don’t we head back to the bed then? That’ll be more comfortable than the bathroom floor.” Arthur helped Eames up slowly. He looked terrible, with dark circles under his eyes and his skin pale and clammy. Arthur remembered the first time he’d seen Eames properly sick; he’d been shocked by the change and had briefly and irrationally wondered if he was maybe dying. He’d gotten more used to the sight, as uncommon as it was, over the years, but he still felt a stab of concern each time.

Eames was curled against Arthur’s side as soon as they were back in bed, face pressed against Arthur’s t-shirt. That was the other thing he'd learned: when Eames was sick, wearing anything he actually liked was inadvisable at best and downright stupid at worst. So until Eames was more recovered it would be sweatpants and cheap t-shirts that he didn't have to worry about keeping clean and could just throw out when they invariably got something gross on them. Arthur could still feel the slight heat of Eames’ fever through the cloth, but it was far better than it had been the past few days. Hopefully it would break for good sometime this evening. He looked down as Eames muttered something, his voice too muffled to actually make out what he was saying. “Come again?”

He tilted his face up slightly. “Said you’re going to get sick too after this.”

“Maybe. I’ll be fine though.” Arthur ran his hand through Eames’ hair. He was, to be fair, absolutely right. There was almost no way he was getting out of this without catching whatever it was Eames had. When he got sick though it was usually far milder. He'd feel like shit for a few days, but nothing like what Eames was going through. “I don’t get sick like you do.”

“Still. You don’t have to stay.” Eames started to sit up unsteadily. “‘M fine.”

Arthur sighed. “Don’t be an idiot. I’m not going anywhere. Now lay back down." Eames was back against him almost immediately, arms around his waist. Arthur laughed quietly and went back to running his fingers through Eames' hair. Eames was quite affectionate to begin with, and when he got sick he was almost downright clingy. It was sweet, honestly. "Someone has to take care of you."

"I can take care of myself." Eames' voice was muffled again, but at least a bit more understandable.

"Not when you're sick, you can't."

"You had to drop the job though."

Arthur settled back against the pillows. "Well, it's not like either of us really needed the money. And it wasn't a particularly exciting one, so I doubt we're missing much." He was about to say something else when he felt Eames tense. Arthur gripped his shoulders and pushed him up; he knew all too well what that meant. "No no no no do not throw up in the bed."

It was close, but Eames managed to make it back to the bathroom in time. Arthur crouched behind him, rubbing Eames' back gently as his shoulders shook. He moved back and sat against the tile wall after a few minutes when Eames seemed to have finished throwing up, shifting so that Eames could lay between his legs, head resting on Arthur's chest. "Maybe it's best if we just stay in here for a bit."

Eames groaned, gripping his shirt tightly. "Sorry for making you do this."

"Don't be. I'm certainly not sorry for being here." Arthur wrapped his arms around Eames' shoulders, holding him close. "Let me take care of you."

I love you.

XXX

The fourth drink was, as were most things with Eames, both a wonderful and terrible idea. Arthur hadn't planned on getting drunk, in fact he'd planned on specifically not doing that, but Eames had asked if he wanted a second drink with a smile that had made it clear he was hoping the answer would be yes, and Arthur had never been very good at saying no to that smile. Two drinks turned into three and eventually into four and at some point Arthur had ended up back at Eames’ place, settled quite happily on his lap, the world warm and blurry around him. He wasn’t exactly sure when or how that had happened, but he wasn’t going to complain.

He leaned his head back against Eames’ shoulder. “If I’m hungover tomorrow I’m absolutely blaming you.”

“All I did was ask if you wanted another drink.” Arthur could see Eames grinning out of the corner of his eye. “You could’ve said no.”

“Not when you’re asking, I can’t.”

“Really?” Eames wrapped his arms around Arthur’s waist, holding him close. Arthur moved with him easily. “I had no idea I had such an effect on you.”

Arthur laughed. “Yes you did.”

“Well, okay. I maybe had some idea.”

Arthur hummed contentedly in response, settling back against Eames’ chest. It was wonderful laying here like this. He knew he’d regret those extra drinks in the morning when he’d almost definitely wake up with at least a mild hangover and have to go back to working on the job, but right now he couldn’t think of anything better than sitting with Eames' arms around him, curled against him. Eames chuckled, leaning back against the arm of the couch. “You’re cute when you’re drunk, you know that?”

Arthur tried to cut off the giggle he could feel building up in his chest, but was only partially successful. “I’m not cute.”

“You get a couple of drinks in you and you start blushing and giggling and invariably end up on my lap like some sort of intoxicated cat. You,” Eames kissed his temple, “are an adorable drunk and you absolutely can’t convince me otherwise.”

“And what about you?” Arthur looked up. He tried to fix Eames with a serious glare but based on Eames’ grin he seemed to have failed. “You’re just as drunk as I am.”

“That’s true.” Eames raised an eyebrow. "You saying you think I'm also cute when I'm drunk?"

"No." Arthur frowned. That hadn't been what he'd been trying to say but, to be fair, he wasn't entirely sure what he had been trying to say. He searched for some sort of comeback. "You're always cute. Not just when you're drunk."

Eames stared at him for a moment, surprised, before laughing and pulling Arthur in close. "Shit, you really are drunk."

"Hm, maybe. You're still cute though." He slipped his hand into Eames', train of thought derailing slightly as Eames squeezed his hand back. "You have…you have this smile. It's not your normal one, you know, the polite one you use when you're trying to be nice or friendly. Your real one. The one you use when you're happy or something made you really laugh. Or sometimes you just look at me and suddenly that smile is there for no reason. Your entire face lights up and you…" He shrugged. He knew there were probably better words he was trying to find, but none of them seemed to be coming. "You're cute."

Eames ran his thumb over the back of Arthur's hand, tracing small circles. "Apparently you're a sentimental drunk too." His tone was teasing but even through the haze of alcohol Arthur could hear the fondness behind it.

"Shut up," he giggled.

"Never." Eames shifted and Arthur slid off his lap slightly and onto the couch beside him, draping his arm across Eames' stomach and nestling against his side. Eames kissed his forehead. "You're a cute, sappy, sentimental drunk and I refuse to ever let you forget it."

"I can't stand you, you know that?" Arthur buried his face against Eames' shirt as Eames laughed. It truly was wonderful laying here like this. It struck Arthur as Eames ran his fingers through his hair that he would be perfectly content to lay here in Eames' arms for the rest of his life. "Can't stand you in the least."

I love you.

XXX

Arthur had some strong opinions about Toronto's downtown architecture, most of them rather negative, but he'd always liked the train station. It was a classic building, with it's high, arched ceiling and wide open atrium, and Arthur may have gotten his start in extraction with strange and paradoxical architecture but he still appreciated a well made classic when he saw it.

He hated it now though. Being at the train station meant morning had come already and it was time for him and Eames to part ways. Again. Three days together after almost four months apart hadn't been nearly enough, but it was all they'd been able to manage. He leaned against Eames, trying to savour the feeling as best he could.

"Don't look so sad."

Arthur looked down, trying to hide his expression. He both loved and hated how easily Eames could read him. "I'm not sad."

"Yes you are." Eames chuckled and tilted his chin up. "You get sad every time we do this."

"I just don't like goodbyes, that's all." Arthur kept his gaze down, not looking at Eames. It felt childish but if Arthur looked at him he'd see the soft expression he knew was on Eames' face, and that would just make it worse. "I've never liked them."

"It's just a couple of weeks. A month at the most." Eames' hand was against his face and Arthur leaned into the touch, trying to commit the feeling to memory. "We've had longer goodbyes before."

"I know." Arthur reached out and adjusted Eames' collar, frowning slightly. Anything to occupy his attention. "Doesn't make it easier though." His hands drifted slowly down to Eames' waist, fiddling with the hem of his jacket. Finally Arthur looked up and met Eames' gaze. His chest hurt slightly as he saw Eames' expression; it was just as soft and gentle as he'd imagined. "I'll miss you."

Eames grinned at him. "Careful, or I might start to think you actually care about me."

Arthur frowned again. "Careful, or I might decide I don't."

"Empty threats, that's all you have." Eames' expression softened again, and he ran his thumb over Arthur's cheekbone. "I'll miss you too, darling. I always do." He looked up as an announcement echoed over the loudspeaker. "Well, I think that's you."

"Yeah, it is." Arthur looked back down, fingers still playing absentmindedly with the edge of Eames' jacket. He knew he needed to go, but he couldn't quite bring himself to pull away. Part of him was tempted not to. To stay here, miss his train, forget the job he was supposed to start tomorrow. To not say goodbye. Not again. He was tired of that, tired of weeks, of months, apart. But that was their life. Maybe it wouldn’t be one day- he hoped it wouldn’t be one day- but for now it was. After a moment he sighed. "Be safe?"

"Always." Eames kissed his cheek before pulling away. "I'll see you around, love."

"Yeah." Arthur gave him a small smile that he knew was laced with sadness. "See you around."

I love you.

XXX

Arthur was pissed.

Well, not really. He was worried. Eames had been gone for over an hour. Which wouldn’t be concerning under normal circumstances, but it most certainly fucking was when they had people trying to kill them. They’d been laying low in a safehouse Eames had used in Amsterdam previously for the past few days without any issues, but the client who’d put the hit out in the first place had deep pockets and access to resources. Arthur doubted three days was enough for things to be even remotely safe again.

They’d needed food though. There hadn’t been much in the safehouse when they’d gotten there, and it hadn’t been long before they’d worked through most of what was there. Arthur had tried to insist on going but Eames had pointed out that his Dutch was better and they needed to attract as little attention as possible right now. Arthur had begrudgingly agreed; he knew Eames was right, but that hadn’t done anything to calm the discomfort in his chest as Eames had closed the door to the rundown apartment behind him or tamp down on the restlessness that had made him start pacing back and forth in the small space as the minutes ticked by.

By the time an hour had passed Arthur was well and properly anxious. There was a store nearby, it shouldn’t have taken Eames this long to pick up enough food to last them another few days. Unless something had gone wrong. Unless he’d been made. Been captured. Been killed. Their client had a reputation and Arthur had met men like him before, men who were vengeful and violent and cruel; he didn’t want to think about what would happen if he got his hands on Eames. Couldn’t think about it. His mind wouldn’t leave it alone though, running through the possibilities. Of how Eames might’ve been killed. Of what might happen to him if they had taken him alive.

So Arthur wasn’t angry. Not really. But anger was easier than the worry and anxiety that was gnawing at him so he focused on that instead, letting it build until he could almost ignore the growing fear that something had happened. Not quite, but almost.

He stopped in his tracks, hand dropping to his gun as the door lock turned, tense and alert. He relaxed as he caught a glimpse of god awful but familiar paisley though, and a moment later Eames was in the apartment closing and locking the door behind him. “Well, we won’t be eating great, but we should be-”

The relief didn't last long, anger flaring in Arthur's chest. “Where the fuck have you been?!”

Eames blinked, clearly surprised by Arthur’s tone. It was admittedly a little harsher than he’d intended, but not by much. He gave Arthur a confused look. “I went to the store, darling. Thought we’d already discussed that.”

“The store is three blocks away. You’ve been gone over an hour!” Arthur tried to take a deep breath but couldn’t quite seem to manage to get a full one. “It shouldn’t have taken that long!”

“The line at the store was long and then I thought I might’ve had a tail so I-”

“A tail?!” Arthur wasn’t quite yelling, raised voices attracted attention and they very much did not need that right now, but it was getting harder to control his volume. “How careless were you?!”

Eames set the bags he was carrying on the floor with a frown. “Arthur, calm down, I wasn’t-”

“No, I’m not going to fucking calm down.” It was harder to take a breath now and he knew he was getting louder despite his best efforts to stay at a normal speaking volume. “You could’ve been killed, Eames, you can’t be this careless! You can’t…”

“Arthur.” Eames’ voice was quiet but firm as he took Arthur’s hands. “It’s alright. I’m alright. Just breathe.”

Arthur gripped Eames’ hands, trying to take a deep breath again. The anger drained out of him as quickly as it had flared up, leaving him feeling shaky and unsteady. “I just…you were gone for so long and I…”

“I know, I’m sorry.” Eames pulled him into a hug and Arthur leaned into the touch gratefully. “I didn’t mean to worry you."

Breathing was a little easier with Eames' arms around him, the pressure grounding him. Still a bit shaky, but easier. "I kept thinking something had happened." He relaxed slightly, the solid feeling of Eames against him helping dissipate some of the anxiety in his chest. "Sorry I got…worked up. I just…I worry sometimes. About you."

"It's alright." Eames pulled back just enough to kiss Arthur's cheek. "I love you too."

Arthur blinked at the words, surprised, before smiling slightly. He'd known how he felt for a while, but he'd never said it out loud. He hadn't known how. Leave it to Eames to figure it out anyways though. He buried his face in the crook of Eames' neck, a gentle warmth replacing some of his worry. "Am I really that easy to read?"

Eames laughed quietly. "Absolutely."

“I do, you know.” Arthur pulled back and looked at Eames with a serious expression. “Love you. I mean it.”

"I know, darling. I've known for a while.” Eames kissed him gently. “And I mean it when I say I love you too.” He smiled. "Now what do you say we eat something? Like I said, it won't be the best meal ever, but it'll be better than the stale crackers we've been eating the past few days."

Arthur smiled back. The anxiety in his chest hadn’t fully disappeared, but it was far better now, and Arthur knew it would be gone soon enough. It was alright. Eames was alright. "Sounds good to me."

#arthur x eames #arthur/eames #dream husbands #arthureamesmonth2020 #dreamhusbands #inception #local trash goblin writes stuff

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abluescarfonwaston · 4 years

Text

ShapeShifter Au -10

TW For panic attacks this time Yall. Masterpost for the other parts here.

In the end Geralt had to carry him most of the way. Even with the slowed drip from the –remarkably- healed cuts on his chest and shoulder he still felt faint and chilly. His feet lurching under him until Geralt gave up hauling him and just tossed him over his shoulder to carry him into town.

He. Should probably shift into something easier to carry. But he didn’t want to. And Geralt had said it was okay. So he just let Geralt carry him as he flecked and dripped blood onto Geralt’s armor.

It was more ragged than he remembered, Geralt’s armor. He had said he needed that contract.

“Didn’t bring Roach?” He asked Geralt’s very muscular backside.

“She needed the break.” He said simply. Then he hesitated – which he couldn’t explain how that sounded different from when Geralt was simply done talking but it was – before continuing. “And I needed to make sure Ciri could get away quickly if something went wrong.”

He pat Geralt’s rear – it was the only thing he could reach in his defense – reassuringly. “You were kicking my butt. You’d have been fine.”

“If you’d been an actual arch Griffin I probably wouldn’t have been.”

He elbowed him in the ribs. “I was an arch Griffin you ass.”

“You made a terrible arch Griffin. You can’t fight at all.”

“I threw you across the clearing you- you” He stumbled around tiredly for an appropriate insult before settling on the one in front of his face. “Giant ass.”

Geralt snorted before dumping him on the ground, his back against unyielding stone. He drifted, nodding off quickly, safe in Geralt’s presence.

A safety betrayed- BETRAYED- when Geralt dumped a bucket of water on his head.

He squawked indignantly flapping his wings – well his arms now- at his mate’s –Geralt not mate- betrayal.

Just how long had he been a griffin?

He remembered his words as Geralt drew a second bucket. “What do you think you’re doing!”

“We don’t have the coin or time for a proper bath. This will have to do. At least until we can find a river to dump you in.” Geralt lifted the bucket threateningly.

“Don’t!” He chirped – yelled. “You’ll get my clothes gross too. Just.” He took the bucket and began rinsing out as best he could without disrobing in the not unpopulated local they found themselves in. People were staring. Or. Purposely not staring. “Let me.”

Geralt let him until the bucket was mostly grime before dumping the last of it on his hair and drawing up another.

He scrubbed some of the mats free but mages it was long. He needed a barber and a bath and a clean set of clothing and a nap and his lute and-

“What are you doing?”

He froze and tried to figure out what he was doing.

His tongue was sticking out. Almost touching the filth that still covered his arms.

He pulled back with a disgusted hiss. Staring at his long nails still caked with. He didn’t want to know.

He pressed the heels of his paws –hands they were fucking hands - to his eyes and pushed.

“I haven’t been one thing for that long in. Maybe ever.” Even during winters he’d manage one or two shifts. “It’s. Disorienting.”

“Hm.” He listened to Geralt pull up another bucket. “Lean forward.”

He did and Geralt poured the bucket over his head, scrubbing and yanking the mats apart. Quickly. Efficiently. Not gently. Much like most of their baths. He leaned into his hands anyway, his chest trying to purr.

“Are you.” He paused forcing a clump apart. “Going to be okay with Ciri?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Because.” Geralt scrubbed the grime clean from his scalp. He felt raw with it. “Griffins?”

“What about griffins?”

“Their. Instincts?”

“About what?”

“I don’t know. People. Children? I don’t know what shit Griffins do Jaskier.”

“You literally fight them for a living. You know more about them than I do.”

“I know how to fight them. Not. Live with one.”

“Do.” He turned to peer at Geralt. “You think I’m going to eat her or something?”

The fear he saw there was answer enough.

He curled into himself further. How many people had he killed for Geralt to look at him like that? Something high and broken spilled from his chest.

“Jaskier? Fuck Jaskier stop- Jaskier” His mate thought he’d kill his cub. His mate thought he would hurt her. His mate was afraid of him.

Of course his mate was afraid of him. Look what he’d become.

He dug his talons into his arms and tried to pull his wings around his dirty frame but they wouldn’t come because he was a terrible griffin whose mate didn’t want him and who thought he’d hurt their cub and-

“Jaskier!” His mate yanked him from the ground and forcefully tucked his head into his shoulder. “Breathe!” He held his breath until his head swum with it afraid of what would come out if he did.

“Breathe Jaskier.” He mate begged him and he tried. Tried to breathe him in but all he could smell was metallic pain. He sobbed with it burying his nose deeper to try again to find Geralt under what he’d done.

“That’s. A little better.” A calloused hand tried to scruff the back of his neck – like the old tom cat in the kitchen –and for a second the tension drained – that tom cat was dead. Buried in the garden under the rose bush and his mate didn’t want him so he might as well be buried there too and he was going to hurt their cub and-

“You’re a good mate and I don’t think your going to hurt our cub Jaskier fucking breathe.”

The griffin’s talons eased where they dug into his skull and he struggled through a few breaths. Mate –Geralt- shushing him like Roach.

“Good that’s – uh- mate’s proud of you. Deep breaths. In. Out.”

He did his best to follow Geralt’s instructions, muscles shaking with exhaustion even when he finally succeeded in calming. He should just shift into something small so he could slumber in Geralt’s pocket for the next week.

He was too tired to shift.

He hadn’t been too tired to shift in.

long.

Time.

He was set down on a bench and Geralt was asking something about. An alderman?

“If he’s mean to you I’ll eat him.”

“Staying out here then.”

And Geralt was gone.

But not too gone. The fabric of Geralt’s chaos still warmed his chest. He pulled on it. Urging him back.

A lifetime or maybe a moments later Geralt returned. Coin purse jangling an insultingly little amount.

“Isn’t enough.” He tried to shove Geralt. “Worth more.”

“For an arch griffin it wouldn’t be no. But you fight like a drunken toddler.” He slapped his armor for that rude assur- asse- claim. Rude claim. “Besides I got you back. That’s worth more than the rest of your sheep stealing bounty.”

“Just sheep?” He leaned heavily against the wooden paneling and begged Geralt to lie to him.

“And a few goats. Won’t tell Eskel. Promise.”

He thanked him for the lie and they were moving again.

It smelled like ale and piss and distant rowdy laughter. A bar. But they weren’t in it. Geralt’s hands tilted his face and he blinked slowly up at his beautiful eyes.

“You can’t met Ciri like this. You can’t even stand right now.”

“Can too.” He said. The words took a long time to come out.

He drifted back off while Geralt thought of a response.

His face pulled uncomfortably and Geralt was scowling at him, cheek pinched between his fingers. Which meant Geralt was looking at him. Touching him. He trilled quietly.

“Fuck Jaskier I know you need to sleep but we can’t stay. The army’s still to close. We need the money for food. We can’t stay.”

Geralt was sad. Geralt was apologizing. Geralt needed him to move.

“Let’s go then.” He forced his hands under him and stood.

Tried to stand.

His arms gave out within seconds and he tipped to the side. Caught by Geralt’s strong hands.

He tried to purr his apology but this chest couldn’t and it hurt. It hurt to fail Geralt.

“Don’t. Don’t do that again Jaskier. We’re fine.” Geralt stroked his long hair and he realized he was keening again. They were fine. He forced it to stop.

“Fuck you’ll never forgive me if you met her like this.” Geralt pushed the still tangled hair from his eyes before it fell back down. “Fuck.”

“Do you.” An idea spun in his head like a top making him dizzy. “Want me to shift?”

Geralt squeezed his eyes closed. “I want you to always be you.”

“I wanted to shift. At the well.” He explained eloquently. “Too tired.”

“It’s good you didn’t. There were people there.”

“Tired.”

“I know I’ll figure something out.”

“Wanna shift.” He tried again.

“Shift into whatever you want Jaskier.”

“Can’t. Tired.” He slouched into Geralt. “Tell me. Please.”

He was so tired he wanted to cry with it and he couldn’t sleep because Geralt needed him and he couldn’t think because his head was full of wool.

“Tell you what Jaskier?” Geralt lifted his face upwards and he let him because it was Geralt and he always trusted Geralt.

That was. Maybe a different thought.

“What to be.”

He felt Geralt reel back and he slumped forward, saved from the dirt by Geralt’s responsive arms. “I’m not going to make you shift Jaskier.” He sobbed.

“I want to shift!” He pulled on the feeling but there was no energy, no movement behind it and he stayed inconveniently, terribly human. “I wanna shift.” He slumped heavier into Geralt.

Geralt stayed silent above him.

“Please.” He pawed at the fabric in his chest. Tugging at it. Willing Geralt to understand.

He gasped, arms tightening around him. “What was- how did you-“

“Please Geralt.” He tugged again and Geralt pulled him into his lap, tucking him under his chin.

“Right. Yeah. Turn into- shift into a bird Jaskier.”

He tried but there was no power to follow to request with. He yanked harder and Geralt gasped again. He could feel the power at the other end. Weak as it was.

“Axii. Axii helped last time Jaskier. Can I try it?”

He nodded, remembering the calm of Geralt in the maelstrom of power. How safe he’d been there.

“Jaskier. Shift.” It wasn’t like last time, there was no party raging under his skin for Geralt to calm. He was tired. Bone deep drained. A land brought to desert with drought. And Geralt a single bucket of water. He downed it greedily begging more from the source. Forcing more from the source as the barely scabbed wounds closed.

There was a command there. But he didn’t know what it was. Didn’t know the shape of it. He consumed the power he could, tugging on the fabric to draw more – he was hungry and tired and hurt and distantly Geralt made a pained noise.

If Geralt was hurting he needed to be able to protect him. He needed to at least be able to run. Be able to do something. Something. He swallowed ever drop from the open tap and shoved it open wide when it tried to close.

He was hungry and tired and hurting and-

“Jaskier. Lark.” Geralt gasped out above him.

He was in Geralt’s hands and the power was cutoff. A lark.

That was fine.

He was still hungry. Tired. Hurt.

He tugged on the fabric again, asking for more.

“No. I can’t.” Geralt ground out above him. He peered up at him.

Geralt was hyper pale, as if on the edge of toxicity, and leaning heavily on the wall. Chest heaving.

He nuzzled into Geralt’s fingers anxiously. He hadn’t looked that wrecked before.

“Fuck.” He stroked his feathers with a single finger. “I couldn’t igni a candle right now. I can’t do that again.”

He nodded and chirped an apology. He hadn’t meant to-

“It’s fine. I’m fine. I just can’t do that again.” He did not at all trust Geralt’s definition of fine, especially when he lurched to standing. “Ciri. Food. Ride.”

Geralt was definitely tired.

He rubbed himself against Geralt’s hand hoping he’d understand the apology there.

“She’ll like you Jaskier. Don’t worry. Besides you’re much more palatable this way.”

He nipped Geralt’s fingers for that. Palatable was not a nice thing to call him. They’d eaten birds before and he didn’t need the reminder of what his drumsticks might taste like.

Geralt smiled and took them inside.

It wasn’t. Crowded exactly. But it was loud and there were lots of people eating and drinking and playing dice during their lunch break and he pressed himself into the curl of Geralt’s fingers shaking with it.

Dangerous.

People were dangerous.

He should fly away before they bolted him or stabbed him or caged him or-

“Fiona. Time to go.”

A girl looked up at them from the group of children settled on the floor playing dice. She nodded and stood. Following him as he ordered food and sat in the corner. Geralt’s thumb soothingly easing the shudders that shook him with every clattering noise of the bar or sharp bark of the patrons.

She sat down but stared back towards the game.

“How’d the hunt go?” She asked without looking.

“Good.” She looked over at him then, surprised by the effusive praise. He twittered a laugh. “Easiest griffin I’ve ever fought.”

He nipped Geralt’s hand again but he didn’t respond. Irritating tick.

“Oh?” She glanced back at the game debating. Could she get Geralt in story mode later and go back to playing now or should she wheedle a decent story out of him while he was still willing.

“Practically rolled over for belly rubs.” He squawked his offense. That was Not what he was doing-

But it was a much more pleasant narrative.

He’d try to remember it that way instead.

Ciri was looking at him. Or rather, the dark cave made by Geralt’s hands.

“And.” Geralt continued. “I met an old friend.”

She looked intrigued, no longer half distracted by the sound of dice hitting the floor.

Geralt’s voice grew closer as he leaned in. “Want to meet him?”

She nodded, unsure what the trick was yet.

“Meet Jaskier.” Geralt’s hand eased away and he blinked in the bright – brighter- light of the bar. “Troubadour, poet, and my best friend.” He preened proudly, fluffing up for Ciri’s inspection. Geralt coughed. “After Roach of course.”

He turned to Geralt and expressed his offense.

“That’s a bird.” Ciri said, distress leaking into her tone.

He turned back to her quickly and fluttered over with a shake of his head.

“Did Mousesack ever teach you about familiars?” He peered back at Geralt. He didn’t like that term. Yennefer always hissed it at him and sure Mousesack had said it weirdly at the banquet but that didn’t inspire confidence. But Geralt wasn’t looking at him.

He returned to his quest to convince Ciri to pet him. She raised her hand, unsure, and he took the opportunity to help himself to the curve of her fingertips. They were warm like a summer day and it sunk into the exhausted chill of his bones like a hot bath.

Care for. Protect. Love. Her song called, drawing him not to collision but to orbit around the majesty of her silver sun and he found he didn’t mind at all. He would. He would. He already did.

“He talked about them like they were revered. That the people they chose to partner with shaped the world and walked with gods.”

He looked back at Geralt, eyes sparkling. He liked druids.

He really regretted not taking Mousesack up on that offer to play for Ciri’s name day now. But in his defense he had thought the man was going to kidnap- birdnap? - him. Or that Calathe would behead him or Pavetta might drive him to that manic state again or-

He had his reasons.

Geralt gave him a look. “This is why I don’t let you talk to druids. Your head’s big enough as it is.”

He cawed in reproach. Better than making him talk to Yennefer who spend the first years of their acquaintance thinking nothing more than a stupid pet.

Geralt looked back over at Ciri. “That’s wrong. And you’ll hear people call them monsters or pets or. Vessels.” He growled. “And they’re wrong too.”

“If someone ever tries to convince you someone is just one thing, they’re wrong. No one is ever just one thing.”

Geralt glanced behind them and quickly tucked him under the table. Food was set down and after a few moments more he was released to peck at the stew.

“This morning Jaskier was an arch Griffin.” He said ignoring the disbelief on her face as he shoved one of the mushrooms to the side of the bowl for him. “And after that he was a human. And this evening he’ll probably be something else.” Ciri stared at them. Trying very hard to figure out if Geralt was messing with her. “Eat.” He said.

They did.

Geralt passed him into Ciri’s hands as he saddled Roach. She watched him warily. He hopped up to her shoulder and began working through the tangles that had gathered in her hair.

“What’s he doing?” She asked.

Preening! He cheeped.

Geralt glanced over. “Brushing your hair. He’ll try to do it in any form.” He tightened the girth. “If you don’t like it he’ll stop.”

She twisted her neck to peer at him and he shuffled over to try and help. Cocking his head.

“It’s fine.” She said after a few moments. “Just. Different.”

He chirped merrily and went back to it.

“Better than when he’s a cat. Tongue baths are not pleasant.”

He protested that! Tongue baths were lovely! Assuming you had fur that was. And weren’t covered in filth.

Geralt checked the tack once more before opening his saddlebag and rebuilding the nest he’d made for Jaskier there.

“Time to go.” He said holding it open. He fluttered in.

Home. Home at last.

#Geralt #jaskier #geraskier #shapeshifter au #shapeshifter!Jaskier #geralt x jaskier

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rowdy-revenant · 6 years

Text

Are You There, Wyatt? It’s Me, Bobo

Part two of The Thing About Being You

[<< part 1] [WEarp masterlist] [part 3 >>]

Pairing: hollirey (Bobo Del Rey/Doc Holliday)

Characters in this chapter: Bobo Del Rey, Doc Holliday, Wynonna Earp, Wyatt Earp (sorta)

Words: 1300+

Beta readers: @intricatecakes + @therecklessandthegays

Read it on AO3

“Waves is out with Nicole right now,” Wynonna told Doc as she unlocked the door to the Earp homestead. “It’s just us.”

“There was a time where that sentence would have sent shivers up my spine,” Doc said with a smirk.

Wynonna hit him on the chest but smiled. “C’mon, don’t be gross,” she told him. Doc chuckled and followed her inside.

The gunslinger waited in the kitchen while Wynonna headed to Waverly’s room, the old wood floorboards of the house creaking under her feet. She returned a few minutes later with a stack of files in her hand.

“Let’s go through these until I recognise someone,” Wynonna suggested.

“Thrilling,” Doc said sarcastically. He handed her a drink and took a sip of his own.

An hour and a bottle of beer each later, Wynonna stood up suddenly. “Boom! Found ‘em!” She held her hand out to Doc for a high five and was met with a confused expression. “Please don’t tell me I have to teach you how to high five.”

“Uh… perhaps later. May I see the file?” Doc asked.

Wynonna handed it over. There was a grainy sepia picture of two men, both with the same pale eyes and dark hair, though one was taller than the other. They stood in front of a cabin, rifles in hand. “Recognise them?”

Doc nodded. “I sure as hell do. Martin and Michael Morgan.”

“Say that five times fast.”

“They’re brothers. Thieves. Started off as pickpockets and it just got worse from there,” Doc recounted. “Hoarders too, like to keep their stashes instead of selling them.”

“So hoarder revenant thieves stole my gun.” Wynonna sighed. “Greeeeat.”

“Now don’t give up just yet. They may be smart, but they sure as hell ain’t wise. They use the same tricks over and over,” Doc said. “They’ll be easy enough to take down, so long as it’s at least two against two. Their plans did not account for Wyatt to have me with him the first time around.”

“Only problem now is how to find them.”

“Do Waverly’s notes have anything on their current location?”

Wynonna flipped through the couple of pages on the brothers. “Nope, nada.”

“Damn it,” Doc grumbled. He leaned back in his seat.

Then a thought came to him; “Who knows the revenants better than anyone else?”

“Bobo...” Doc said out loud.

“What.”

Doc sighed. “Bobo would know where to find them.”

“Alright, so we go over to the well, pop the lid off, get the location and BAM, you have a roomba in no time.” Wynonna grinned.

“You and I both know it won’t be that easy to get information out of him,” Doc told her.

“It’s still worth a shot though, right?”

Meditating was stupid. All you do is sit there and think. All Bobo had done these past few days — weeks? — was sit and think. Still, he tried it, there wasn’t much else to do down there. Tried to calm his thoughts and soothe his mind, hoping for some sort of revelation that never came. Stupid meditation.

He’d cried himself to sleep last night. Damn, that realisation made him feel like some angsty teenager. However, for once, he didn’t have a nightmare.

Bobo had dreamed about Wyatt. Sitting in an empty Shorty’s, some song or other playing on the jukebox or radio or whatever. The details were growing hazier by the second.

“It’s been a while.” Wyatt smiled.

“Uh, yeah,” Bobo mumbled. “I guess you could say that.”

There was a sense of awkwardness in the air. Bobo walked behind the bar and poured himself a drink. “This better be just a dream and not some…” He gestured vaguely, bottle of liquor in hand, “...ghostly message from beyond the grave.”

Wyatt chuckled. “Allow me to retain some sense of mystery around myself, Robert.” Bobo shrugged and poured two glasses. “What would you rather it be?”

“I’d rather it be some stupid dream,” Bobo admitted. “The real you wouldn’t like this me.”

“You’re still you.”

“Am I, though?” Bobo asked.

Wyatt smiled and raised his drink. “Cheers.”

A sudden rush of light snapped Bobo out of his thoughts and back to the present. He covered his eyes with one hand, unused to so much sunlight in this small space. A pebble hit the revenant in the face and he grunted in surprise.

“Hey, asshole,” Wynonna’s voice said.

“Earp,” Bobo replied, his voice still hoarse from last night. “To what do I owe the pleasure? Come in, make yourself comfortable.”

“I’m good up here, thanks,” she replied.

Bobo craned his neck to try and get a better look at who was there. There were two figures at the top of the well. The first was Wynonna, but Bobo couldn’t make out who the other person was. “You brought a friend.”

“Hey, asshole.”

“Doc. Of course.” Bobo picked up the pebble that had hit him- probably thrown by Wynonna, though it could have just as easily been Doc showing off his aim- and twirled it between his fingers. “Are you at least charging people to see me?”

“That would imply that people want to see you,” Wynonna told him.

Bobo threw the pebble, trying to hit the cocky heir. It missed, hit the wall of the well, and bounced back down right into his face again.

“Well, well, well.” Doc said with a smirk. “How the tables have turned.” He did his best to hide his nervousness with his tone and facial expression, not that Bobo could see his face. His hands were clenched and he dug his heels into the ground. Just thinking of this well made the gunslinger queasy.

“Was that a goddamn pun, Holliday?” Bobo Del Rey growled. “Ha ha. Hilarious. What is it you two want?”

“We need something,” Doc explained.

“Doesn’t everyone?”

Doc muttered something to Wynonna that sounded like “I told you.”

“Listen,” Wynonna leaned back over the well and began to talk again. “We need your help to find some revenants.”

“This is Purgatory,” Bobo told her. “Throw a rock and you’ll hit a revenant.”

“Been there, done that.” She dropped another pebble but Bobo managed to avoid it this time.

“We need to find a specific pair of revenants,” Doc clarified. “The Morgan brothers.”

“And you expect me to just tell you?” Bobo scoffed. “No. I tell you and you leave me in here to rot.”

“That was the plan,” Wynonna said.

“I want out,” Bobo said. He leaned against the damp stone wall, still trying to get a better look at Doc and Wynonna. “I want to get out of this damn well.”

“You and I both know you cannot be trusted,” Doc replied. “If we let you out, you’ll just cause trouble again.”

Bobo groaned and rolled his eyes. “I won’t, I swear on Wyatt’s grave, I won’t.”

“Don’t you bring Wyatt into this,” Doc spat.

“I want to be better! I’m a changed man!” Bobo insisted. “I want to change.”

“Why would you?” Wynonna asked. “Why the hell would you change?”

“Maybe because I’m tired of cleaning up revenant messes? You don’t know how infuriating they can be, it’s like herding undead cats!” Bobo exclaimed. “Maybe because I’m as tired of this curse as you are!”

Doc and Wynonna moved away from the well. Bobo could hear them talking but couldn’t make out what they were saying. Moments later, they leaned back over the well.

“If we let you out you help us with this. And not just information, you come with us to take on those revenants,” Wynonna said.

“Of course,” Bobo replied.

“And you help us with every other revenant case after this,” Wynonna continued.

“Sure,” Bobo agreed. “Send every last one of those bastards back down to Hell, I’d be glad to lend a hand with that.”

“Then we have a deal,” Doc concluded.

“Mm hmm…” Bobo hummed. “Why do you need to find the Morgans anyway?”

“I uh…” Wynonna stammered.

“They stole something from you, didn’t they?” Bobo chuckled. “Something shiny… something magic… they took Peacemaker and you need me to get it back.”

“Shut up. We have a deal” Wynonna grumbled.

“Of course we do. But one last thing.”

“Dear lord, what now?” Doc groaned.

“I want my coat back.”

#the thing about being you #hollirey #doc holliday #bobo del rey #dramatic bitch revenant #wynonna earp #wearp #wyatt earp

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veryloyalfan · 4 years

Text

SorielWeek 2020 Day 3: Fairytale

Day 1: Dance & Day 3: Fairytale

More under Cut:

Bare bone ground against the rough stone floor as the short, ragged clothed skeleton scrubbed at the muddy bootprints on his hands and knees.

“SANS!!! SANS, GUESS WHAT?!?”

His younger brother raced into the room, no doubt trailing more muddy tracks. *papyrus, keep it down, will ya? and where have you been?!

The older skeleton kept scrubbing, but winced at the silence that ensued. He shouldn’t have snapped like that, but he’d gotten a rude awakening from a hungry dog that morning, and realized that not only had he slept in, but Papyrus was nowhere to be seen.

His brother shifted his weight self consciously as he stopped yelling, and started yelling whispers. “OH… I DIDN’T REALIZE HOW MUDDY IT WAS OUT THIS MORNING, OR HOW LATE IT’S GOTTEN… ARE… ARE THEY STILL ASLEEP?”

Sans rolled his eyelights. *yeah, and don’t wake ‘em up. we don’t need them bellowing at us for breakfast just yet. specially since it’s not ready.

Worry started to seep into Papyrus’ voice. “I’M SO SORRY, BROTHER! I DIDN’T MEAN TO BE GONE FOR SO LONG. BUT YOU’LL NEVER GUESS…”

*later, bro.

Sans stood up, grimacing over his shoulder. Thankfully, there was no new trail of muddy bootprints leading up to his brother’s feet.

When Papyrus squirmed anyway, Sans sighed, and found a smile. *here, finish mopping up before she sees while i check the porridge, will ya?

His brother nodded meekly, quickly taking the mud soaked rag and rinsing it before going back over the spots Sans had deemed “clean enough”. Course, with Papyrus doing the scrubbing there was probably time to do the whole thing. He shuffled over to the stove, relived to find the porridge boiling steadily, and only sticking to the very bottom of the pot.

While he started stirring it, Papyrus tried again. “BUT YOU’LL NEVER GUESS WHAT DAY IT FINALLY IS???”

Actually he knew full well what day it was. How could he have forgotten? It was all Papyrus had been talking about.

Drat. It had been Sans’s turn to wash the dishes last night, so there they sat… in the sink, coated in stuck on food. He pumped some fresh water in. *okay, okay, wassup?

His brother squealed. “IT’S PARTY DAY!!! AND EVERYONE IS INVITED, AND I CAN’T WAIT!!!”

The thrill in his voice dug at Sans as he focused real hard on the dishes. *cool, i guess.

“IT’S TONIGHT!!! I’M SO EXCITED!!! THERE WILL BE SO MANY PEOPLE THERE, AND IT WILL BE A GREAT OPPORTUNITY FOR ME TO SHOW EACH AND EVERY ONE OF THEM HOW AWESOME I AM, AND I’LL BE SO POPULAR!!!”

He certainly hoped so, for Papyrus’s sake.

“Papyrus! Like, where’s breakfast?!”

“Yeah! And why is my laundry still, like, all over my floor?”

Papyrus jumped up but Sans pointed at the floor. *you finish up, i’ll take the food to our evil step-sisters.

He smirked as he was scolded. “SANS!!! BRATTY AND CATTY AREN’T EVIL! THEY’RE JUST… A LITTLE RUDE SOMETIMES. AND THEY MUST BE SUPER EXCITED ABOUT TONIGHT!!”

*yeah, yeah, whatever you say.

He dried the bowls, filled them and balanced them on the tray that he took his time taking upstairs. Sort of. Unfortunately anything he slacked off on would just pile onto Papyrus’s chore list, so he couldn’t really afford not to care.

“SANS… MAYBE… DON’T BE RUDE BACK? JUST FOR TODAY?”

He smiled thinly. *don’t worry, bro, i’ve held out this long, haven’t i? i’m not gonna blow your chance now.

“OUR CHANCE!!!”

Sans waited to shake his head until after he’d left the kitchen. He couldn’t care less for big fancy parties at the castle, and he was fairly sure he wouldn’t actually be allowed to go. Their stepmother had said they could go if they got their chores done, and had something presentable to wear. That was a pretty big if under normal circumstances, but the three women had really piled on the chores, intentionally or not.

Naw, the most he had to look forward to tonight was an evening without those three working him ‘to the bone’. Heh. Papyrus though… he hoped with everything in him that they could satisfy River Lady Tremaine enough that his brother would be allowed to go, and he’d only have to be on this extra best behavior until tonight.

To optimize his chances, he quickly dropped off the breakfasts, and gathered the laundry from the girls’ room, ignoring their excited prattling about tonight, which he REALLY couldn’t care less about except they’d taken to laughing about how ridiculously out of place Papyrus would be at the castle.

“Did you hear that?”

“Like, how could I not?”

“Can you imagine thinking of going to a party with royals dressed like that.”

“Like, totally gross. Oh, but what are we going to wear though?”

Sans refused to pay them any attention, but he dragged the laundry out just in time to see Papyrus look down at his clean, but tattered clothes. When his brother gave him a brave smile, he grinned and winked a silent reassurance it would be alright. One that he could only hope he could actually deliver on.

Of course nothing in their life was ever easy.

If chores had been bad all week, they were insane today. Not just helping the girls prep for the party, but strange, random cupboards needed organizing, the attic needed to be cleaned. Each extra task was more daunting, but they weren’t counting on Papyrus rising to the occasion through it all.

But at the end of the day, when the chores were all done, he couldn’t say he was REALLY surprised when they went to get the suit they’d made for Papyrus, only to find an empty hanger.

“…DID I DECIDE TO WASH IT AGAIN?”

*only the three times, bro. it was right here.

“…MAYBE THEY MISPLACED IT? I’LL GO CHECK!!!”

He didn’t bother to try to stop him from racing upstairs to where the girls were leaving. He should have known better. Should have hidden it. But even he hadn’t thought they’d pull something that low.

And maybe they actually hadn’t done it on purpose. But when he made it upstairs, they were giggling about how they’d thought ‘that tacky old suit” was trash, and they’d sold it to a friend as a joke.

Their stepmother led the girls out to the waiting carriage with a few cryptic words, and left them standing there, Sans trying to hold back anger, Papyrus trying bravely not to cry. “WELL… MAYBE NEXT PARTY.”

He turned and quietly went out the back door.

The anger left Sans in a rush, and he was left just feeling helpless as he scrambled to think of something he could do or say to make it just a tiny bit better. But when he followed his brother, Papyrus was the first to talk. “I’M SORRY YOU CAN’T GO TO THE BALL, SANS. YOU CERTAINLY EARNED IT. YOU WORKED SO HARD…”

*me? papyrus, i didn’t even…

Even now he somehow couldn’t bring himself to make light of the promised party his brother had wanted to attend so badly. Making it less appealing however… *probably woulda been way too stuffy for me, anyway.

“…MAYBE.”

*and i’ve heard they eat real weird food like snails up there.

“YEAH… AND ANY FOOD YOU THINK IS WEIRD IS PROBABLY REALLY, REALLY WEIRD.”

*heh.

He went over to the bench Papyrus slumped onto, and sat down beside him reaching to pat him on the back. *i’m just sorry you had ta miss out.

There had to be SOMETHING they could do? Trade one of the stepsisters outfits for a suit? Find the alleged guy they sold the suit to? Maybe they’d just pranked them and the suit was actually somewhere… ”WHAT’S THAT??”

*huh? what’s what?

“DON’T YOU SEE THAT OVER THERE?”

He looked where Papyrus was pointing and for a second, all he could make out was a big, poofy blue dress, but after the bright lights died down a little, he realized a rectangle was wearing the dress and coming towards them. “HELLO DARLINGS! DON’T FRET, I’M HERE NOW.”

Sans squinted. *and you are… who exactly?

The robot struck a pose. “WHY, WHO ELSE?? I’M YOUR FAIRY-GODFATHER OF COURSE! NOW THEN, PAPYRUS, WE DON’T HAVE MUCH TIME… LET’S SEE NOW… HMM, YES, THIS WILL DO.”

The robot waved a wand, shooting an electric current into an old plate of spaghetti in the trash. Noodles stretched and snaked and grew as the plate expanded and Sans actually had to fight an urge to run before it stopped, transformed into a fancy carriage.

Another flick of the wand, and their little dog friend floated over, growing until he was big enough to pull the carriage.

“ONE LAST THING…” Papyrus’s clothes were next, transforming into a perfectly tailored red suit. “YOU LOOK FABULOUS DARLING! NOW YOU BETTER GET GOING BEFORE YOU MISS YOUR GRAND DEBUT! SADLY, THE MAGIC CAN ONLY LAST UNTIL MIDNIGHT, SO KEEP YOUR EYES ON THE CLOCK!”

Papyrus seemed dumbstruck for a second, before blinking it off. “WOWIE!!! THANK YOU SO MUCH, BUT… WHAT ABOUT SANS?”

“HMM? SANS? HIS WISH WAS FOR YOU TO GO.”

“WELL, YES, BUT… CAN’T HE COME WITH ME? PLEASE?”

Sans shrugged. *bro, it’s fine, really. you go and have a great…

A surge of magic hit him, changing his familiar rags into a matching suit in blue. *…time?

“ONLY UNTIL MIDNIGHT! REMEMBER DARLINGS!!!”

Papyrus squealed and grabbed Sans, pulling him into the spaghetti carriage, and off they went.

Despite not really caring about going, Papyrus’s excitement was contagious, and he was overjoyed to see his brother so happy.

There was a lot of chatter about the reason for the party being something about the princess choosing a suitor or some other political nonsense that didn’t concern the little people.

Papyrus was finding it EXTREMELY easy to chat with these people. That suit, combined with his outgoing friendly attitude, demanded attention that normally these rich snobs wouldn’t have spared him for anything.

Sans backed off, watching his bro shine from one of the many food tables. Many of which did contain snails, and none of which contained ketchup. There were some nice fancy sauces that were pretty good though.

He was just putting some kinda sauce dipped cracker snack up to his mouth when something bumped into him. “Oh my! I am so sorry!”

He glanced up into a dazzling pair of kind eyes, then followed their gaze down to the sauce now dripping down his suit and white shirt. He shrugged, and because she looked so mortified, *knock knock.

“Oh… who is there?”

*dishes.

“Dishes, who?”

He stuck his hands in his pockets with a grin and a wink. *’dishes’ a very bad joke.

Her mouth twitched, and then she giggled, and then her giggle just, unfolded, into the most beautiful laugh he’d ever heard in his life. Her eyes twinkled. “Knock knock?”

He held his breath. *who’s there?

“Old Lady.”

*old lady who?

She smiled brightly. “Oh! I did not know you could yodel!”

Man. That right there had to be the reason that when she asked him if he’d like to dance, he let her lead him out to the dance floor, where he became so utterly lost in her eyes, he barely noticed when they stopped dancing, and when they’d slipped outside to talk, and joke, and swap terrible puns until they both had tears in their eyes.

“Those are very interesting shoes.”

*heh, ya like em?

He lifted a foot to study it with a shrug. Instead of getting fancy shoes with his outfit, he’d gotten nice comfy slippers. But who wanted to talk about footwear with a lady like this?

Sans was so utterly smitten, in fact, that he almost didn’t react when he glanced at the clock and saw that it was nearly midnight.

After all, she didn’t seem like the type that’d hold it against him that he was a total fraud when his fancy suit turned back… to…rags…

Papyrus!

If he didn’t get him out of here NOW the magic was gonna wear out right in front of Papyrus’s new fan club. *i.. i’m sorry…

“Sorry? Whatever for?”

*i gotta go. now, but…

As he raced back towards the castle he turned for one second to tell her, *i had a real nice time. erm… goodbye.

“Wait! Please!”

It tore at him, but he just couldn’t. He ran, fast as he could. Thankfully he didn’t have to look far to find Papyrus. He never did. “SANS! WHERE WERE YOU??? WE NEED TO GO!!!”

*i know, i know, sorry!

Papyrus scooped him up under one arm and fled out the front door and down the steps with him as fast as he could go, ignoring the cries of “Wait! Please!!!” behind them.

Papyrus dove headfirst straight into the carriage, one slipper falling to the steps and staying there as they sped away without it, breathing heavily and laughing a bit hysterically as they raced from the castle grounds and around the bend where the magic unfolded, leaving them in a laughing heap, holding the annoying dog and all three of them covered in old spaghetti, after what had to be the most magical night of their lives thus far. Lives that, little did they realize, were about to change for the better.

#sorielweek 2020 #Day 3 #fairytale #sorry for the typos #i'll fix them tomorrow #this was rushed #obviously

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emmaspirate · 7 years

Text

Finally

“I thought you were gonna die, and that does something to a man. It changes the way he thinks about things.”

set just before 6x12

just a short little drabble because I have a lot of feelings.

He knows exactly when he decided he needed to marry her.

Key word being needed, not decided, because it wasn’t really a decision. Anyone with half a brain could see that marrying Emma Swan was the best choice they’d ever make, should they be so fortunate as to be able to make it. She was light embodied in an immeasurably strong, breathtakingly beautiful, heart-clenchingly adorable woman. She was the rarest bird of all; a savior, a mother, a daughter, a princess, a horrible cook, and, despite all odds, his True Love.

So, no, deciding whether or not he was going to ask the question wasn’t a decision.

Killian had thought about marriage before he’d met Emma. At some point when he was a kid, he went from thinking women were the worst to deciding that maybe it wouldn’t be that gross to be married. His future wife could cook his dinner, and clean his clothes, and check under his bed for monsters like his mother did. Then his mother died, and that was the end of that.

When he met Milah, he was young, arrogant, and embittered after the death of his brother. She helped clear away some of the anger around his heart, but he just wasn’t ready. He couldn’t make that kind of commitment only to lose her. Besides, in his mind, they were having too much fun to settle down in that way. After she’d died, he realized how endlessly stupid his reasoning was, but still, he wasn’t sure he would’ve changed anything. They just hadn’t had that type of relationship. She’d been married before and, well, he decided he just wasn’t the marrying kind.

That is until he met Emma Swan.

He’d wanted to ask her for a very, very long time. Killian had known he’d be content to spend the rest of his life by her side very early on in the game. Marriage had popped into his head, somewhat unwelcome, when he’d found her in Camelot, clutching Merida’s heart. It was an odd thought to have in that situation, but their relationship had never been conventional. He had spent what felt like a lifetime loving her, but she’d only just mustered up the courage to say those three little words that gave him enough joy to run on for another three hundred years. So, he chalked his thoughts up to the chaos that was going on and pushed them down like only he could.

Then he was turned into a Dark One, and it’s funny how little time one finds to think about marriage when they want to rip out the hearts of those they love the most.

Then he died, and suddenly he had time again. He found that, amidst all the horrible things he’d done, not asking Emma Swan to marry him was his biggest regret. To not have died with a ring on that finger, a physical reminder that he was hers for the rest of his days, seemed to be the biggest tragedy of all. Then, of course, because she’s the biggest bloody hero of them all, she’d trekked to the Underworld to save his sorry ass. It hadn’t been her fault that things hadn’t quite worked out, and he’d made her promise him that she wouldn’t close up again. That she’d be happy. In turn, he’d told her that he would move on, even though, as he was staring into the white, warm light, he knew it was the last thing he wanted to do. He didn’t want to move on. He wanted to be with her. He wanted to move in with her. He wanted to have children with her. He wanted to spend the rest of his days growing old by her side. He wanted to marry her.

Then Zeus had given him, a man who’d had endless time, more time.

Even then, while he desperately wanted to marry her, he didn’t need to. Killian had always looked to Emma to move the relationship forward. He knew she was easily spooked, and the last thing he wanted to do was rush her into making a decision she didn’t want to. He was content with waiting. He’d wait for her for forever.

Except they didn’t have that long.

He couldn’t quite describe what it was like to hear her say that she was going to die. Obviously he knew it would have to happen sooner later; the world would lose the fire that was Emma Swan. He’d just always stupidly assumed he’d go first.

That’s when he realized he’d forgotten.

Emma’s love had made him forget what happened to the people he cared about most in the world. It had made him forget that they didn’t have all the time in the world. It made him forget that people like Liam and Milah and Emma, people who were impossibly great forces in his world, were still human. Emma, who had overcome numberless obstacles and fought unimaginable battles, was not going to be around forever. He had limitless faith in her, he’d gladly bet his life on her, but she too would be gone one day.

She couldn’t fight death forever.

He couldn’t protect her from it.

So one night, when she’d crawled into their bed and curled into his chest, her glasses still on and her hair in a messy bun, he realized he needed to marry her. That if he had to spend another day not married to her, it may just kill him. That he wanted her to be his wife nearly as much as he wanted to be her husband. It was as natural of a necessity as the need to breathe.

So one day, when Emma was working at the sheriff’s station, he’d taken a walk down by Storybrooke Jewelers. He perused the rings, knowing that he wasn’t going to buy any of them, but also wondering if perhaps he should get her something bigger than what he had in mind. Before he could make a decision, a voice rang out and broke him from his reverie.

“Can I help you find something?”

Killian turned to find an elderly looking man staring at him earnestly from behind the main counter. “Yes, I, um, I need a band for this stone.” He dug deep into his pocket and produced the simple diamond. She wouldn’t know where it was from, and he was debating on whether or not to tell her. He kind of liked the idea of being the only one who knew the origin of the rock that would, hopefully, be perched on her finger.

If only he’d known then that their trek up the beanstalk would be the beginning of his happy ending.

She’d told him not to touch anything, and he’d ignored her. He was a pirate after all. The majority of his loot had been coins, but their were a couple emeralds, and that one diamond. He’d told himself that after he killed The Crocodile, he’d pawn it or something. Naturally, fate had other plans for him, and a lengthy Neverland trip had further delayed his plans. After they’d all gotten sucked back into the Enchanted Forest, and Emma and Henry had gone to New York, he didn’t have it in him to get rid of it. In some small way, the gem became representative of Emma herself; the diamond in the rough that found its way to him against impossible odds. So he kept it as a promise to himself that he would now find his way back to her against impossible odds.

And he did.

They always would.

The shopkeeper smiled. “Gettin’ married, are you?”

Killian gave him a brilliant smile. “If she’ll have me, yes, I’m getting married. Finally.”

#captain swan #cs #cs drabble #captain swan drabble #killian jones #captain hook #hook #emma swan

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theliterateape · 6 years

Text

Considering Chicago’s Dead Rats — An Existential Discovery

By David Himmel

Recently, I watched a rat die naturally and it nearly broke my heart. It’s a strange feeling since I have taken the lives of so many rats before.

In our house, we refer to the summer of 2014 affectionately as the Summer of the Rat. Three out of seven days a week during that summer when I would take our dog, Eddie, out for his morning constitutional, I’d find at least one dead rat in one of the several rat traps we had set in our yard. While Eddie did his business, I tended to the business of disposing of the rat. I was always prepared to find one so I’d pick up the trap gingerly by its edges and drop it into the plastic trash bag I’d brought out with me. When Eddie was done, I’d use a smaller plastic bag to scoop up his poop and drop that into the rat bag, tie it up and walk it to the dumpster behind our apartment building.

At some point during the previous winter or spring, rats had made their way into the walls of the first-floor apartment below where we lived. At dusk, when rats are their busiest, it was more common than not to see one or two or three run across the yard into the street or into one of the many holes they had dug around the apartment’s perimeter. My wife, Katie, gladly gave me the responsibility of taking Eddie out at night, too.

My uncle Jon, who owns a farm, gave me a large box of your standard rat traps. I baited and set them in front of every rat hole I could find. We didn’t want to use rat poison out of concern for Eddie and the neighbor’s dog and any city rabbit rascally enough to make a snack of it. Traps, when baited and set properly, are the most effective way to get rid of the problem. And the problem was made of some big bastards. From snout to tail, they measured the length from my elbow to the tip of my middle finger and were much fatter than my forearm. Their deaths were bloody. Sometimes the trap would catch their neck, snapping it and sending blood out of their mouths. Sometimes it would catch their skull, crushing it, and the blood wood seep out onto the paver stone walkway and patio of our building. I should have asked the landlord to purchase a power washer that I could use to clean up the stains.

One afternoon, while tossing the tennis ball in the yard with Eddie — pop flies only so he wouldn’t accidentally trap his foot — I saw one of our next door neighbors walking out of her place. At the same time, I glanced a fat rat walking slowly along the concrete base of that property’s fence. The young woman saw it, too, and shrieked.

“Hang on,” I said to her. “I’ll get him.”

I quickly grabbed the snow shovel with the metal edge I kept in the foyer of our building and walked to her front gate. “It’s OK if I come in?” I asked. She nodded a frantic yes, otherwise frozen with fear. I thought it was strange that a rat would be so bold to parade itself like this in the middle of the day until I realized that it must have been sick, having likely gotten into some poison set out on some other property. It was moving slow enough that I had no trouble reaching it and slamming the edge of the shovel down onto it.

Over and over and over. I hoped the first thrust would decapitate it or sever its spine. But rats are tough fuckers and the thing just squealed until finally, it stopped. The neighbor thanked me. I scooped the thing up and carried it to the dumpster.

A week or so later during the same time of day, Eddie and I stepped outside for our afternoon pee and poop and ball tossing. He bolted down the steps as per usual but instead of heading out to the grass at the front of the yard, he bolted straight to the property-dividing fence at the bottom of the steps and buried his head in the neighbor’s foliage. It didn’t alarm me because dogs like to smell things. But he wasn’t leaving. Eddie was onto something. There was something in the foliage. I ducked down, scooted Eddie out of the way and pushed the plants apart. He had been snout to snout with another fat rat.

I rushed him upstairs and tossed him in the tub for a good scrubbing. I don’t know how much actual contact he had with the rat but I wasn’t going to take any chances. I figured that this rat, like the one from the week before, had also ingested poison. As Eddie soaked, I called the vet and asked if I needed to be concerned. “Probably not. Give him a bath and keep an eye on him. If he acts strangely, call us back or bring him in.” He was fine — more annoyed at the mid-day bath than anything.

I grabbed my best butcher knife from the kitchen and returned to the fence hoping the rat was still there. It was. I stabbed it with the knife. It didn’t shriek or even move. It just let me kill it. As I did, I wondered if the rat and Eddie had communicated at all. If the rat had confessed anything to my pup while on its deathbed. I wondered if it saw me as a savior — an angel of death sparing him from the lengthy agony the poisoning would have caused.

(I washed the knife with soap under the hottest water half a dozen times then ran it through the dishwasher on the HEAVY setting. I never told Katie about this, and I’m hoping she’s not reading this. Please, no one mention it to her. She may divorce me if she knows the truth. Or worse, I’ll have to buy a new set of knives, and those things ain’t cheap.)

Later on, that summer, toward the end of the rats’ reign, I noticed a sticky pad set up along the wall of our building not far from what I am convinced was the rats’ front door into the first-floor walls. Sticky pads are terrible traps for rats, Uncle Jon told me. Most of the time the rats will step on it and are strong enough to free themselves, not caring that they often leave behind a limb in the process. Rats are survivors and vanity doesn’t register with them. A gimp rat with a missing leg may well be a rat to be honored among the mischief. I figured one of the guys downstairs must have dropped the sticky pad, and that was as much as I thought about it. Until the next morning when as Eddie was pooping in the grass, I saw two kitten rats — baby rats are called kittens in a wonderfully ironic twist — caught on the sticky pad.

They were squirming trying to free themselves. I felt sorry for them. The poor things were likely the last of their swarm, and with having killed so many adult rats, I had left them without any adult supervision. Not having been taught the skills to navigate the world’s dangers, they couldn’t have known to avoid the sticky trap. Eddie did his business, we tossed the ball around for a bit and then headed back into the apartment so he could get back to napping on my office couch and I could get back to work.

But I couldn’t stop thinking about the baby rats. The fear they must have felt. The confusion. The suffering. I went back outside with the intention of stomping them out. Me, the kind Angel of Death there to make it quick and painless. I grabbed the rusty hedge clippers from underneath the first-floor apartment’s porch. I was surprised to find a third rat kitten in the sticky pad.

Maybe they were siblings, three brothers. Maybe the two went out in search of food while the third stayed back to guard the nest. When the first two didn’t return, the third brother went in search of them. Seeing them stuck on the sticky pad, he, of course, wanted to help them. “No!” the two trapped brothers screamed at him. “It’s a trap! Stay away! Save yourself!” But he refused and in his young, foolish brain, he thought he could save them. And there they were, three little rats, squirming together, huddled up with one another as if they were comforting each other.

I couldn’t help but think of my brothers, Eric and Steven. How scared we would be if our entire family was dead and it was just us alone in the world to fend for ourselves, and now we were trapped, scared, hungry and hurting, knowing death was the only conclusion.

The clippers weren’t sharp enough to pierce them. I only managed to bludgeon them, hurting them more. They squealed. They cried out. “It’ll be OK, my brothers!” the oldest one may have said. Finally, after several minutes of beating the three rat kittens with the handle of the clippers, they died. I picked up the pad with the shears and carried it to the dumpster. I tossed the shears in, too. I went back upstairs, washed my hands and snuggled with Eddie. Then I called my brothers.

A few days ago, I was walking into a bookstore in Evanston. Before I got to the door, I noticed a small rat that I first thought was a mouse scurrying around the sidewalk’s high concrete planters. It was 11 a.m. and nasty, nasty cold. This rat should not have been away from its mischief. Judging by its size, it was a youngling, a teenager who had perhaps, in a moment of defiance, stormed out of his family’s nest. It couldn’t climb the concrete. It would leap, get hold and then fall back down the six inches to the sidewalk. It looked like it had a bum leg. Broken maybe. Frozen perhaps.

I heard a little girl scream, “Eww!” She was sitting in a minivan parked along the curb. The windows were down. The engine was running. She and her brother shared the front seat. “Is that a mouse?” she asked stretching farther out of the window.

“It’s a rat,” I said.

“You should help it. Pick it up.”

“I’d love to help it but rats are really dirty and it could bite me. He’ll figure it out. He’s a smart little creature.”

“It’s so gross! I hope it’s OK.” She and her younger brother jostled for a better view of the gross rat she wanted to help.

I spent an hour in the bookstore. I hoped I would either see the rat still trying to climb or not see it at all because it had made its way to wherever it was trying to go. Instead, I found it dead against the planter. I stopped alongside it. It looked peaceful but I know it died frustrated, which is the last way I want to go. I pondered its existence in a moment of silence and allowed myself to feel sadness over its death and its disappointing final moments.

Generally, I hate rats. They’re ugly and dirty and dangerous and destructive. When I was single, I patrolled the alley behind my apartment with a bb gun hunting the nasty bastards. This activity was the first conversation and debate Katie and I ever had. “They have a right to be there, you know.” She was right. Rats are only here because we’re here. And as long as they stay out of my home’s walls and my yard and away from my neighbors and my dog, I’m fine with them. As fine as a rat’s merchant of death can be, anyway.

But I felt sad for the bookstore rat for the same reason I felt sad about the three kittens on the sticky pad: I can relate. I saw my brothers and I on the sticky pad and I saw myself in the bookstore rat. Their youthful zest for life stopped short because of conditions beyond their control, because of circumstances they were unable to improve. They tried and they failed. Their ultimate undoing was a result of their desire to do something despite the odds. It’s the same risk I try to run every single day.

#Chicago Rats #Rat Extermination

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literateape · 6 years

Text

Considering Chicago’s Dead Rats — An Existential Discovery

By David Himmel

Recently, I watched a rat die naturally and it nearly broke my heart. It’s a strange feeling since I have taken the lives of so many rats before.

“Hang on,” I said to her. “I’ll get him.”

“It’s a rat,” I said.

“You should help it. Pick it up.”

“I’d love to help it but rats are really dirty and it could bite me. He’ll figure it out. He’s a smart little creature.”

“It’s so gross! I hope it’s OK.” She and her younger brother jostled for a better view of the gross rat she wanted to help.

#Chicago Rats #Rat Extermination

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ashroseevans · 6 years

Text

No Regrets 1

On the road to Altissia, _____ gets kidnapped by Imperial Troops. Noctis and the others rush to go save her and when they get back, Noctis realized something important...

I clung to Noctis as he carried me out of the imperial base I was held in. As we walked, I heard the sound of a gunshot go off, probably from Prompto, and then the sound of an explosion. I flinched and closed my eyes tightly. I couldn’t help it. Having been kidnapped from Lestallum by the Imperial Soldiers while we were gearing up to get the next of Noctis’s Kings Arms and tortured for days to try to get information out of me kind of made me a little sensitive to sound, explosions especially.

Noctis’s arms tightened around me when I flinched and while I didn’t feel especially better, I felt a little bit safer. The boys were silent as they walked away from the base, me secure in Noct’s arms. We stayed silent even as we drove to the closest campsite, Noct keeping his arm securely around my shoulders. It almost felt like he thought that if he didn’t have some sort of contact with me, I would just disappear again.

When we got out of the car again, he tried to carry me again, but I refused. Prompto thought that I should let him, but Gladio took my side, saying that the more I was coddled the longer it would take me to bounce back. He said it in his usual gruff tone, but I knew he was being kind.

When we arrived at the Haven, I dug through the bag that had my clothes. The ones I was wearing were mostly in tatters, chunks of fabric missing in some places. I pulled out fresh clothes and a towel and held the articles in my arms as I looked at the boys.

“I’m going to clean up,” I said, my voice missing the usual playful tone it had earlier in our journey.

Ignis looked up. “Are you sure that’s wise? The soldiers might still be lurking about, not to mention daemons.”

“I’ll be fine, specs,” I said and managed to flash a playful smile. “I feel gross. I need to… take account of my injuries and I’m not sure any of you want to see or know… exactly what happened.”

Noctis shot me a meaningful look which I promptly ignored. I knew he wanted to know, but I refused to tell him. It would only make him more angry and irrational about all of this. First his father, then his friend Luna, then his… pseudo-girlfriend. I would not make things worse for him. I couldn’t.

Ignis gave me a look like he still wasn’t exactly sure, but let out a sigh before pushing his glasses up his nose. “Don’t take too long. We’ll start worrying.”

I nodded and left our campsite and headed towards the small pond we passed on the way to the haven.

* * *

Prompto and Ignis watched while _____ walked off. Prompto looked openly worried while Ignis’s worry looked more contained. Gladio continued setting up the tent and Noctis focused on the fire and setting up the chairs. Prompto looked at the prince.

“Should you really let your girlfriend go off on her own?” He said. “Especially after what she just went though?”

“She’s not my girlfriend,” Noct said.

“Might as well be,” Prompto muttered and sighed before standing up. “If you’re not going, then I will.”

Ignis looked at Prompto, a knowing sort of glance. “Yes, I do believe it would be best if someone at least went to make sure nothing happened to her.”

Prompto grinned. “I’ll make sure nothing happens,” he said and started walking.

Without a word Noctis stood up and walked passed Prompto. “Finish setting up the fire,” he said and started walking off.

When the prince was gone, Ignis looked at Prompto. “Well played.”

Prompto shrugged. “We all know Noct is stubborn, this was the only way to get him to go while we were all around.”

“Are neither of you concerned that _____ left to bathe and Noctis is going after her?” Gladio said from where he was hammering a spoke in the stone to hold up the tent.

Prompto and Ignis looked at each other, their hearts nearly stopping for a moment. Prompto laughed a little nervously and slapped dismissively at the air.

“Nah, she’s fine. She’s one of the Crowns Guard. She can handle herself.” Prompto nodded as if agreeing with himself.

“Yes, and Noct knows better than to do anything while he’s engaged to Lady Lunafreya,” Ignis said.

Gladio looked between Ignis and Prompto. “You do realize that after the Crown City was attacked, all peace talks were voided. Including Noct and Lunafreya’s engagement right?”

Ignis and Prompto exchanged a look. “They’ll be fine,” they said together, as if to try to convince themselves.

* * *

The cell was cold and dank. Everything hurt, different parts of my body were throbbing with new bruises or burns that were still sensitive. The sound of dripping was all I could hear and the cell was so dark that I couldn’t see anything. No light permeated the darkness and I wasn’t sure if I was dead or alive.

It’s been almost a week, from what I was able to tell, since I was taken from Lestallum and brought to the closest imperial base. They tortured me because I was one of Prince Noctis’s travel companions. They didn’t expect one of the boys to give up any information, but since I was a woman, they expected me to cave under the pain of torment and give them what they wanted, but I didn’t.

I lifted my head as I heard a commotion coming from the upper floor. It sounded like a fight broke out, metal clanking against metal. My heart seized and I prayed that whatever it was stayed away. Especially if it was Noctis and the others. I didn’t want them to deviate from the course they had started just to rescue me. I was willing to die for the prince, as were all of the Crowns Guard. It was our duty.

But still, I couldn’t help the feeling of elation I felt when I saw Noctis and the others come up in front of my cell and crouch down. When I saw him, I did my best to sit up, my right arm stiff and covered with a bruise that extended from my shoulder down to my elbow. That wasn’t even the worst one.

Ignis and Gladio stood guard down the hall a ways while Noctis opened up the cell door and stepped in. Prompto had enough sense to turn around and give Noctis and I… some form of privacy . The look on Noct’s face was one of barely contained rage at the imperial soldiers who did this, but also an unimaginable sorrow, one that I thought was due to seeing me like this.

I wanted to look away from his intense gaze, but I couldn’t find the ability to do it. My vision watered, overwhelmed at seeing him again, that he took the time to rescue me despite the fact that we were on the way to his wedding.

Noct’s relationship with me was… complicated. We felt things for each other, strong feelings that we couldn’t deny. Gladio commented on the sexual tension between us once or twice and we simply shrugged. It was a strange mix of lust, admiration, love, understanding and acceptance for our situation. Unrequited love that would last only as long as it took to get to Altissia and we were both okay with this.

The touch of his hand, as soft as a whisper against my bruised cheek brought me back and he let out a sigh before he put his arms under my knees and behind my back, picking me up as gently as he touched my cheek.

“I'm sorry,” he had said.

I shook my head, thinking he was apologizing for hurting me as he lifted me up. “It doesn’t hurt.”

He shook his head and opened his mouth to say something before Ignis cut him off.

“Noct, they’re sending reinforcements, we best be off before they find us.”

Noctis looked up at him. “Right. Let’s go.”

* * *

I snapped my head behind me as I heard the bushes behind me rustle. Jumping back, I held out my hand as my sword materialized in my hand and I glared towards where the sound was coming from. Sure I might have been a little hasty, but being snapped out of a memory of what happened in the middle of a forest while it’s dark out after what I went through seemed reasonable.

I was just about to rush at the intruder when he walked out, hands up an expression of concern on his face.

“It’s just me,” Noct said and lowered his hands.

I took a deep breath and the sword in my hand disappeared as I visibly relaxed. “I’m sorry, Noct,” I said.

He shook his head. “No, it’s fine.”

I nodded and looked back at the pond, the pile of new clothes and towel still laid out on the ground near the shore. “What are you doing here?”

“I wanted to make sure you were okay,” he said and looked at me.

“Well, nothings happened to me since I got here, so yeah, I’m fine,” I said and shrugged. “No need to worry about me.”

Noctis walked closer to me and put a hand on my cheek, making me look up at him. “That’s not what I meant,” he said, his finger lightly grazing across my cheek. “You’re not the same and I want you to talk to me.”

“Of course I’m not the same. I was kidnapped while shopping in Lestallum and tortured for days.” Despite the harsh tone of my voice, I closed my eyes and pressed my cheek into his hand. “Not exactly something someone bounces back from.”

“I know,” he said and leaned forward, placing a feather light kiss on my forehead. “I’m worried about you. I want to help.”

I let out a sigh as his hand left my cheek and slid to my waist, pulling me into his arms. Mine slid around him and I rested my cheek over his head, listening to the rhythmic beating for a while before speaking.

“I know you do, Noct,” I said. “And you’re already doing more than enough.”

His hands rubbed my back and I tried not to flinch as his hand rubbed passed the large bruise on my back. The beatings I went through at the base were… intense to say the least. Noct noticed however and his hands stilled before pulling me into him more. It wasn’t painful and honestly… I rather welcomed it. It felt safe and comforting.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

I shook his head. “It’s fine. It didn’t hurt that much.”

“No. That’s… not what I meant. I couldn’t protect you. I… I should have been there. I’ve already lost too much. I couldn’t…”

I lifted my head to look at him, reaching up and putting a hand on his cheek. He looked at me, blue eyes piercing mine.

“You didn’t,” I said. “You didn’t lose me. You came for me. I’m not going anywhere. Not until we get you to Altissia.”

He was silent for a moment, just… looking at me. His gaze was so intense that as each second ticked by, I could feel my heartbeat speed up. Finally, he spoke.

“What… what if I don’t want you to go anywhere, even after we get to Altissia?” He said.

I gave him a strange look. “We don’t have a choice, Noct. You’re getting married there. It’s not fair to Lunafreya.”

“This whole arrangement isn’t fair to her. Nor me. It’s a marriage of convenience for a peace treaty that means nothing anymore with the death of my father.” He gave me a desperate look.

It took my breath away and I stared before I found the words to say. “Noct… what brought this on all of a sudden?”

His hold on me tightened and I ignored the fire of pain I felt from the bruises. “When… you suddenly disappeared and I thought I lost you…” he bowed his head. “I was beside myself. I realized that I couldn’t… be without you. I don’t want to be without you.” He lifted his head and gave me a beseeching look, almost pleading with me to say or feel the same. “I don’t want to have any regrets.”

I couldn’t say anything for the longest moment, just staring into his eyes. There wasn’t any denying that in the week that I was held captive, I despaired at the thought that I would never see Noctis again. Nor was there room to deny the elation I felt at seeing him again. We both understood the arrangement we had when we first acted on these… forbidden feelings. But the change in Noctis over the week of my absence mirrored mine.

“I don’t either,” I breathed, unable to take my eyes off his.

Read more Final Fantasy Stories (and others) here

#final fantasy 15 #final fantasy xv #ffxv #noctis lucis caelum #prince noctis #no regrets

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coolminhye-blog · 7 years

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He Came from Narnia: Chapter 3

As Prince Jackson lead the group through a few winding corridors and a large hall full of weaponry, lavish rugs and curtains, vases and other pieces of art from various counties in Narnia and one grand fireplace with a massive painting of the Prince himself hung candidly for all spectators to see. Jessica paused briefly to sneer at the painting of the self righteous Prince with his jeweled crown and winter fox fur lined robe. Yugyeom noticed this and walked up behind Jessica giving her a hug and placing his chin on her shoulder. "What are you thinking?", Yugyeom asked. "Are you ok?" "I despise the very site of him," Jessica said sharply. "He gave up his friends to become this? I will never understand nor want to understand what kind of douche would sacrifice his friends for the power to rule a kingdom." Yugyeom kissed her cheek and grabbed her hand leading her back to the group where they all walked into a grand dinning area with a gorgeous rosewood table with a red velvet table runner edged in gold and 3 golden tassels at each end. The table was large enough to seat 20 with a beautiful china place setting at each chair. The white china was adorned with gold edges, ice blue flowers along the rim of the plates and inside of the bowls and a large lion's face in the center of the plates. Each silver goblet was etched with the Prince's crest on one side and a lion head on the other. Prince Jackson gestured us to all take a seat as he rang a large bell near another massive fireplace with yet another large painting of himself hung above it; the servants began to bring in platter after large platter of some of the most delicious smelling food she'd ever known. The main course looked to be a giant boar with game hens lining the platter. There were vegetable kababs of brussel sprouts, sweet potatoes and onions, a large green salad, something that looked like pudding, and various bowls of gravy. Jessica couldn't figure out why there were so many kinds of gravy! "Your Highness," Jessica said. "Why are there so many bowls of gravy? And what is that pudding stuff?" "My dear Jessica," the Prince started. "Gravy is my favourite thing! I have the traditional gravy in the center, duck gravy for dipping your bread in, spicy mustard gravy for the kababs, a sweet and sour gravy for the game hen..." "And a vinaigrette gravy for the salad, I suppose?" Jessica said annoyed and cutting the Prince off. "Ewww...gross!," Jackson jumped and gaged at the thought. "NO! That pudding stuff! IT'S PUDDING! My mother's own recipe for double chocolate and marshmallow pudding. No one puts anything on their salad here, we just mix in more vegetables." "So I have to eat my salad naked?", Jessica asked still annoyed. "Jessica," Junior tugged at her skirt. "Putting anything on a salad or uncooked vegetables is considered desecration of the land and what Narnia has provided for us. Anything that comes to us fresh from the ground is sacred." "Then why cook the brussel sprouts and potatoes?" Jessica asked confused. "Isn't that bad too?" "No Jess, it is purifying them," Junior said shaking his head. "You will understand in good time." After a quick prayer of thanks for the food everyone dug in. Yugyeom went straight for a game hen and some gravy. Jessica dropped a plate down for Junior full of bacon pieces and pieces of Boar thigh. Doodle just wanted the kababs and salad while JB wolfed down a boar leg leaving only the hoof behind. Jessica ate her naked salad and dipped the kabab in the mustard gravy as instructed by the Prince. She smiled and let out a squeal of enjoyment; Jessica had never tasted anything like it! Back in California, gravy was this gross grey lumpy stuff that was only made during the holidays and usually tasted horrible. Mark watched Jessica with amazement: "I see you're enjoying the palace food, Jessica," he said. "Just wait till you try the pudding, you won't want to stop." Jessica swallowed hard to get the sweet potato down, "I'm looking forward to the pudding. I love pudding!" Everyone finished up their main course and then a big blob of pudding was dropped into everyone's bowl and pilled high with whipped cream. As the large empty platters were removed from the table, 2 pies and 2 cakes replaced them. Jessica's eyes got wide with her mouth full of chocolate marshmallow pudding and whipped cream on her face. Yugyeom giggled and wiped Jessica's face clean as she swallowed the last bit of pudding and staring in awe of the large red velvet cake sitting before her. A servant woman came around to refresh everyone's goblet with a delicious sweet red wine and cut a slice or two of whatever cake and/or pie each guest craved. "The red velvet cake please!", Jessica blurted out excitedly. "And a piece of the cherry pie!" "I've never seen you eat like this, Huntress," Mark said confused. "Did you miss Narnia food that much?" "Not much to miss if I don't remember ever eating it before," Jessica said with a mouth full of cherry pie. "However, when I return home I will miss this food very much. I've never had anything like it!" "If you pledge your bow and arrow to me, Huntress, you may eat like this all you want," the Prince said snidely. "You may even have your own room in this very castle and lead your own army of archers." Jessica put her spoon full of cherry pie down and wiped her mouth, "What's in it for you if I stay in the castle and raise my own army of archers?" "I have an amazing army of archers with an amazing leader of course," the Prince said leaning in and folding his hands under his chin with an eyebrow raised and crooked smile. "Lidia, show Miss Jessica to her room. I will be up shortly." Jessica looked wide eyed at Yugyeom and shook her head sharply almost refusing to leave his side. Yugyeom nodded at Jessica to go and to not argue with anything the Prince asked of her. 'You don't know what he's capable of my love. Do as you're told.' Jessica had no idea her and Yugyeom could speak telepathically! 'I'm scared! I don't want to go!' Jessica said looking behind her at Yugyeom as Lidia took her out of the dinning hall. "Do you love her Yugyeom?", Jackson asked his friend. "Yes Prince, I do," Yugyeom responded annoyed and gripping his wine goblet. "Don't harm her." Yugyeom's eyes began to glow as red as Junior's in a fiery anger. "I'm not going to hurt her, my dear friend," Jackson said. "I'm merely going to make her feel wanted and accepted. Something you've failed to do from the beginning. Not sure why she's clinging to you now after years of you giving her the cold shoulder and your cold heart." "You want to talk about me having a cold heart?", Yugyeom gripped his chair arms snapping one off. "Try taking a look in the mirror. You're as cold and self centered as the Queen before you." Yugyeom's red hair stood up like a cockatoo's mohawk and his arm muscles bulged as he broke the other arm on his chair while throwing the chair across the room and watching it splinter against the stone wall. "Did I hit a soft spot?", Jackson said softly giving Yugyeom the sad face and then immediately going back to his normal poise. "I think you need to go back to your tree house and think about what you've just done. Swing from a few vines and talk to the trees for some comfort." Yugyeom snarled and stormed out of the dinning hall, breaking things on his way through the great hall and throwing guards against walls on his way out of the castle. Once he hit the dirt path right before entering the forest, Yugyeom dropped to his knees, closed his angry red glowing eyes and let out a bone chilling howl. Jessica was sitting on the bed in her new room and jumped at the sound of her lover howling in anguish. She began having flashbacks at hearing that horrid sound of an elf in deep sorrow. Jessica remembered her first warrior cry when Yugyeom was stabbed in the side by an ice dwarf and was only half alive when she found him. The memory was so vivid and clear she began to cry and once again her warrior cry came out in the fear of losing Yugyeom again, only he wasn't dying, someone who called himself friend was attempting to steal her. Yugyeom's ears wiggled as he listened to Jessica's cries, he hunched over sadly and walked back into the dark forest alone. "Why did you do that?", Doodle asked angrily slapping the table. "Now they are both howling! No one will get any sleep!" "Calm down, YoungJae," Jackson said calmly stroking his fur robe and admiring the silver goblet of wine in his hand. "They will be fine! They just survived 200 years without eachother, I think they can survive another week." "We're leaving," JB said bluntly. "Yugyeom needs us now. Let's go guys." "I promise, the Huntress will be happier here," Jackson said confidently. "She belongs in the forest!", Junior said jumping up on the table waggling both tails wildly. "She's the Huntress and the forest needs her! Jessica doesn't belong behind thick stone walls, she's a free spirit!" "She promised me her bow and arrow AND an army!", Jackson angrily slammed his hands on the table challenging the little red eyed fox. "I'll send her back to the forest when she's done training them." "How long with that be?", Doodle asked snearing at the Prince. "I dunno," Jackson said once more gazing at his wine goblet. "A week, two weeks, a month, a year? Depends on how truly capable she is of raising an army of archers to defeat the Queen." "If you don't have confidence in her, why are you keeping her?", JB asked. "Because I want her here," Jackson said a bit bewildered. "I like her, she's changed from a wildling to someone more....sophisticated. I want her here with me." "Your Highness," Mark said sternly. "I will escort everyone back to the forest. I think they've heard enough." "Yeah sure," Jackson waved his hand. "Whatever." The Prince sighed heavily setting down his goblet, "Safe travels back to the forest. Come and visit again." He said escorting himself out of the dinning hall and heading up the steep stone steps towards Jessica's room. Jessica was pacing back and forth in her nightgown and playing with her hair. She couldn't sleep in this cold place with a Prince who was handsome and yet made her so angry! While she hated him so much she was also wildly attracted to him. Should he make an advancement, she may not refuse him out of pure temptation. There was a knock at Jessica's door and the Prince entered her quarters. "Is your room to your liking?" The Prince asked pretended to be worried. "My room is fine," Jessica scowled sensing his fakeness. "Why are you here? Why did you enter my room without my permission?" "I am the Prince," he said. "And if everything goes my way, your room isn't the only thing of yours that I will be entering." Jessica began to panic, sweat and become slightly aroused at the thought of this happening. She backed into one of the bed posts and was startled at the sudden beam of rosewood smacking her head and the heel of her left foot. "OW!", Jessica let out a yelp and rubbed the back of her head. "Let me take a look at that," Jackson said making an advance towards her. Jessica froze in place becoming fearfully aroused at the handsome Chinese muscle chiseled man walking toward her. He wasn't wearing his robe anymore so she could see every muscle definition showing through his skin tight shirt and pants. Her palms became sweaty as Jackson wrapped his muscular arms around her waist and cupped her face in his hand. Jackson rand his nose along her jaw line and breathed heavily into her left ear while slowly beginning to kiss her neck. As his lips found hers, Jackson's fingers also found her nipples through her cotton nightgown. Jessica's hands gripped the bed post as Jackson fondled her breasts and slowly took his hands down her body and around her butt. Jessica's mind began to run wild with all the things they could do in the next 5 minutes or more, all of a sudden, the sadness of Yugyeom not being at her side was lost. Jessica was lost in Jackson's kiss, in his touch, lost in his muscular body that was over dressed. She began undoing Jackson's belt and running her hands up his chiseled chest to help him out of his skin tight shirt so she could admire what was underneath. Scars, there were several scars on his chest from the great battle against the Ice Queen. Jessica kissed the scars, one-by-one: the scar on his right peck, the scar on his left rib cage, the recent wound just above his belly button. Jackson lifted Jessica up and pushed her on the bed, straddling her and running both hands up her legs and body while bringing her nightgown up over her head, revealing her tan fit body and teal panties. Jackson took every part of her in with his eyes and soon with his mouth and tongue. Jessica felt like she was going to explode, her mind was completely blown that a man this handsome wanted her this badly. Jessica removed the Prince's belt and peeled off his skin tight pants, revealing all. He had nothing on underneath those pants, that explains a lot! He removed Jessica's panties and crawled on top of her. Jackson made love to her for hours: Jessica didn't care what people thought of her back in the "real world", she cared less about what they thought of her here. In Narnia, everyone was still a stranger to Jessica. While she felt badly that Yugyeom was about to get his heart broken, he did say to do what she was told. Being lost in ecstasy was not a demand in Jessica's mind, especially when she had Prince Jackson inside her. Jessica had no complaints during those hours they were in the throws. The complaints and tears would come later.

#Fanfic Narnia GOT7 Kpop Smut

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